


Glass Ceilings on Pretty Houses

by littlefrog1025



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Stepford Wives (1975)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Human, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, M/M, Mystery, POV Stiles, Science Fiction, The Stepford Wives, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:34:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefrog1025/pseuds/littlefrog1025
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is a Sterek fusion of the book (and later film), THE STEPFORD WIVES.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sourwolfshoodie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sourwolfshoodie).



> For sourwolfshoodie, who planted this seed and now it's a goddamn oak tree. I couldn't be any more excited to share it with you all and dedicate it to her :)

 

* * *

[Stiles](http://dayum-obrien.tumblr.com/post/77327195390) stares out the window, looking down at Webster Street. The streets are bustling with joggers, school kids holding hands, walking toward the modern art museum, suits trying to hail cabs and flag down trolleys.

There’s a homeless man muttering to himself and carrying a naked mannequin under his arm as he waits at the crosswalk. He’s politely ignored by the delivery boy on the bike, and the blonde yapping away on her cellphone.

Stiles grabs his [camera](http://www.nikonusa.com/en/Nikon-Products/Product/Film-Cameras/FM10.html) off the [window seat](http://ngopolis.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/bay-window-seat-with-delightful-bay-window-exterior.jpg) and snaps a few pictures of the disheveled man as he crosses at the light.

He manages to snap one of the man’s absurd presence creating a bothered look on the face of another man in a dark suit, with a briefcase in one hand and a Blackberry in the other.

An interesting moment captured on film that will appear more imaginative once developed in black and white.

The quick patter of feet growing louder and louder toward him, knock him out of his zone. He’s rushed by tiny arms grappling onto his legs and giggling.

Stiles’ face brightens at the [two 6 years olds](http://www.shutterstock.com/cat.mhtml?models=12778919&models=12778928&context_photo=92033666&page=1) hugged around his limbs. “I knew I heard two muggles headed my way!”

“We’re not muggles! We’re wizards,” his son, [Theo](http://www.shutterstock.com/pic-95699212/stock-photo-smiling-boy-sitting-on-a-table.html?src=hWPZrskc88-HzzqSGRvrVg-1-29), exclaims with a smile.

“Are we now? My apologizes. I had no idea I was in the presence of powerful sorcerers,” Stiles hams up.

“It’s okay. You are forgiven,” [John](http://www.shutterstock.com/pic-95701201/stock-photo-adorable-smiling-boy.html?src=pp-same_model-95699212-hWPZrskc88-HzzqSGRvrVg-6&ws=1), Theo’s older twin, tells him. “You’re a muggle, and muggles make mistakes.”

Stiles laughs. His boys are always good for a laugh.

“What’s so funny,” [Derek](http://littlefrog1025.tumblr.com/post/112473833894) asks as he walks into the room, smiling with a sheen of sweat on his brow and wearing a backwards baseball cap.

“The boys were just schooling me on the finer points of muggle-dom.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. Apparently, muggles make mistakes, and are allowed to do so given they are not of pure blood.”

“I see, but did you boys also know wizards make mistakes, too? Everybody does, and it’s okay. As long as you grow and learn from them.”

Stiles snorts. “You sound like an afterschool special.”

“Oh, thank you for crapping all over my life lesson about mistakes to our children.”

“You’re welcome,” Stiles winks.

Derek shakes his head.

“Daddy you said ‘crappy’. You can’t say ‘crappy’,” John tells him.

“No, it’s ‘shit’. ‘Shit’ is what daddy can’t say,” Derek says.

The boys giggle at Derek’s open swearing.

“Really,” Stiles says with a cocked eyebrow at his husband.

“They think it’s funny.” He pecks Stiles on the lips. “That was the last box.”

A wash of sadness comes over Stiles’ face. Derek pulls him close.

“I love this house.”

“I know,” Derek says.

“We bought this house together. We brought the boys home from the hospital to this house.”

“I know, Stiles. But this next house they’ll grow up in. They’ll play in a backyard and join Cub Scouts or something and do whatever the hell else suburban kids do.”

Stiles chuckles wryly.

“I’m not saying it’ll be better. Just different. A good kind of different. Please trust me.”

“I do trust you. It’s just… My dad, you know?”

Stiles’ father, John, passed away last year of a heart attack. He spent 25 years on the force as a homicide detective in Oakland, getting shot at, threatened with knives, fielding through riots, and even survived a bomb blast, just to die due to his stubbornness in not listening to his doctor about his diet and exercising. The irony of it disgusted Stiles and made him feel robbed. But he knew a long time ago that life wasn’t exactly fair when he lost his mother as a child.

“Want to talk about moving him, and your mom, again?”

To say Stiles isn’t thrilled with their moving is an understatement. He cited his parents being buried at [Holy Cross cemetery](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Cross_Cemetery_\(Colma,_California\)) as one of his reasons for being “hesitant” in leaving San Francisco. Derek suggested they could move their bodies and have them buried at the gravesite where they were going, but after thinking about it for a few days, Stiles found it entirely too morbid and nixed the whole idea.

“No, no. I just…” Tears well in his eyes. He wishes his dad was here. He wishes that every day.

Derek kisses his temple, holding him tight in big, strong arms. Stiles always finds comfort in them. Always feels complete and safe in them.

“I love you. Just know that if you never know anything else,” Derek reminds him.

“I do.”

“Yuck. You guys are being mushy,” Theo says, frowning.

“And what did I say about being mushy,” Stiles asks.

Theo sighs dramatically. “’Being mushy is cool because then the other person knows you love them more than anything in the whole wide world’.”

“Exactly,” Stiles says. “Nothing wrong with mushy, pork chop.”

To prove his point, he kisses Derek all over his face. Theo continues to frown while John giggles.

Derek’s baby sister, [Cora](http://media.tumblr.com/61300550fec552c45c5c35566e0b2925/tumblr_inline_mqjzamjd8n1qz4rgp.gif), walks in. Her trademark black, ‘Hale hair’ is cut short in a shoulder-length bob, pulled atop her head in a small, messy bun. “Ew. Jesus, you two, turn down the mush.”

Theo runs to her. “Save me, Aunt Cora! Save me! Their mushiness is making my powers weak!”

She scoops him into her arms. “I gotcha. Don’t worry. Mushiness doesn’t work on stone-cold wizards like us. We’re House Slytherin, remember?”

“Slytherin, Theo? Not even Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw,” Stiles whines at his son.

“I’m House Ravenclaw, potato,” John reassures.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles coos. He bends down and kisses John’s little cheeks. He laughs and blushes in response.

[Boyd](https://38.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6dli15x9L1rrlouo.gif), Derek’s best friend, walks in, sporting a healthy shine of sweat on his shaved head and rippling arm muscles.

Stiles doesn’t miss Cora trying her hardest not to drool over it. She’s been in love with him since she was 10 years old. Stiles is only surprised that Boyd hasn’t a clue all these years.

“You guys owe me more than some pizza and a pitcher of beer for getting all of Stiles’ camera equipment into the moving truck. Especially since Stiles has been sitting on his butt all day?”

“I have not been sitting on my butt all day! I helped! I moved…” He can’t really think of much at the moment… Did he move anything? He swears he did. “I moved something heavy. I know I did.”

Boyd rolls his eyes. “Are we driving 5 hours up north to move you guys or not?”

“You are. We just wanted a minute,” Derek tells his best friend.

Cora shrugs. “It’s just a house.”

Derek flicks her ear. “It’s more than a house. You should know that considering you’ve spent many a night sleeping one off on our couch and drinking all our coffee in the morning.”

Cora’s far from a sentimental girl. She’s never been one for attachment and nostalgia, but Stiles gets why.

“No. No, Cora’s right… It’s…It’s just a house. I need to remember that, and let go,” Stiles says. But the look on his face betrays him, saying otherwise.

Derek pulls him close again. Stiles squeezes the arm Derek has wrapped over his shoulders, holding him tight to the older man’s chest.

“Don’t be sad, potato. Daddy says the new house is really big and that you’ll like it a lot,” John tries to reassure.

His sweet, wide-eye innocence, his desire to comfort, warms Stiles from the inside out. He pulls away from Derek to lift John in his arms. “Thanks, doodlebug.” Stiles blows a raspberry on his son’s cheek, making him squeal with laughter. He grabs his camera, “Can one of you guys take our picture?”

Cora sets Theo to his feet and takes the camera from Stiles. Stiles continues holding John, while Derek lifts Theo into his arms. They sit on the window seat. Stiles glances back down at the busy, downtown street. It’s the last time he’ll ever look down at it from here…

“Say ‘cheese’,” Cora says, holding the camera up, pointing the lens at them.

They smile wide; Stiles’ a little sad, a little bitter. He hears the shutter and click, trying hard to fight the tears brimming the surface of his eyes. He sniffles, “Alright, boys! Let’s do this! Ready to get on the road?”

John and Theo cheer. They’re young. They don’t understand the sentiments created in a grown up life to things like old photos, birthday cards, and your very first home.

Derek takes their tiny hands, leading them outside. Boyd follows.

Stiles lingers. He wants to go upstairs, take one more look at the bedroom he and Derek painted dark blue for the boys. He wants to run his fingers along the wall in the kitchen where the boys’ heights have been marked for the last three years. They’ve gotten so big since then…

Cora knocks into his shoulder. “It’s a nice home. I know you’ll miss it, but ‘new beginnings are often disguised as painful endings’.”

It’s a Tzu quote, something their mother, Talia, used to say. Derek says it all the time. And always at the right moment.

He nods.

She extends her hand. Cora’s all hard edges and sharp tongue most of the time, but every now and then she manages to let a wall tumble down for a bit.

He takes her hand as they walk to the front door.

Stiles’ grips the knob tight. “Bye,” he whispers, before closing the door.

»»»

“Oh, my God, Derek!”

Derek smiles. “You like it?”

“Oh, my God, Derek!” It’s all Stiles can seem to say as he stares at it.

Stiles refused to see the house, pouting in the beginning about their move like a petulant child. Then as it became more and more of a reality that they were in fact leaving San Francisco, his refusal to have anything to do with the new house shifted to preserving his fondness for their home in the city, and the memories that would be left behind there.

But now he’s standing in front of a three-story, seaside [house](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13765326/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-exterior-other-metro) of stone walls and fulvous-colored wood siding. There are a ton of windows for letting in the bright sun, and a long, paved driveway leading up to the estate that rest on about an acre of land.

“This… This is our house?”

Derek pecks him. “Yes.”

“I am so crashing here when I’m drunk,” Cora says, marveling at the house.

“You live 5 hours south of here. I doubt you’re going to get hammered then drive up just to pass out on our couch. I hope,” Derek says.

“No. She’s not. She’s going have one too many tequila shots then use my hide-a-key to break into my apartment and pass out in my guest room,” Boyd concludes as he lifts up the sliding door of the moving van.

Boyd doesn’t look all that impressed by the house, but that may simply be because he’s been helping Derek with all the necessities of it for the last 6 months.

The movers already took the big stuff out of the house days ago. Derek and Boyd went with. Stiles is starting to think maybe he should have gone with them in order to avoid being so presently overwhelmed.

“You still haven’t answered me,” Derek says. “Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous, Derek, but… It’s just the four of us.”

“For now,” he winks at Stiles.

Stiles rolls his eyes as Derek turns his back to help Boyd with some boxes.

“Well, the kids approve,” Cora laughs.

John’s running around in the grass, chasing a frog, while Theo…pisses on a bush. Stiles joins Cora, laughing.

“Theo! Stop that! Now,” Derek snaps.

“I couldn’t hold it and I don’t know where the bathroom is,” Theo tells his father.

Derek shoots a glare at Stiles. Stiles shrugs at him. _What? It’s funny._

Derek turns back to helping Boyd. Now’s not the time for a fight. Moving heavy boxes after a 5 hour drive then getting into an argument isn’t Stiles’ idea of settling in.

“Theo, pull your pants up, pork chop. I’ll take you inside,” Stiles sighs.

“Oh, me, too,” Cora exclaims, wanting to see the entire house.

“Derek—”

Derek fastballs Stiles the keys and straps down four boxes to a dolly.

_Tension, on our first day in the new house. Nice._

Stiles takes John and Theo’s hands and heads for the [front door](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13765560/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-entry-other-metro). Cora follows behind. Stiles can practically feel her smiling. She’s more excited than him. Everyone is.

Stiles peeks in through the windows. “What the hell…?” There’s three different keys on the keyring. The second one opens the front door. Stiles barges in! The boys and Cora do as well. They run around the place screaming animatedly. Stiles, however, gawks at everything, slowly drifting from the living room, to the kitchen to the dining room. It’s as beautiful on the inside as it is on the outside, but…

He hears Derek and Boyd drop some boxes by the front door and races into the [foyer](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13774082/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-staircase-other-metro). “Where’s all our stuff?! What’s all this furniture?!”

“This _is_ our furniture,” Derek answers.

“I’ve never seen any of these things! Where’s our couch and our table and our fridge, Derek?!”

“Some of it’s in storage, and…some of it’s…gone.”

“Gone where,” Stiles demands to know, arms crossed folded over his chest.

“I sold it.”

“What?!”

“I’m going to get more boxes,” Boyd announces, scurrying out the door.

“You sold and replaced our belongings without tell me?”

“Just the stuff that didn’t matter.”

“If it didn’t matter you would have told me you got rid of it!”

“Maybe because I didn’t want to get into some dumb fight with you about your emotional attachment to a coffee table you’ve had since college!”

“I’m sorry if things matter to me! If they have a significance that I find special or important!”

“No, _ridiculous_ things matter to you, Stiles! Like an ottoman you’ve spilled coffee on a hundred times and smells like feet! Not things like a 4 million dollar house I want you to be happy in! Or your wedding ring!”

Stiles twists the silver band around his finger, reminded of the three different times he’s lost it. It’s a nasty comeback on Derek’s part, but he doesn’t blame him. It’s kind of hard to understand your husband losing his shit over an old couch that’s seen better days when a shiny band symbolizing your love for each other has been “misplaced” more than necessary.

“Derek. It’s just that—”

“I’m going to help Boyd get the kitchen stuff. These are your cameras. Dark room is over there,” he points to a door under the stairs before turning out the door.

Derek had a dark room built for him.

_Shit._

Cora pokes her head out from the living room. “Everything okay?”

Stiles sighs.

“He threw the whole wedding ring thing at you, huh?”

“Yup. Always good for shutting me up… Am I being an ass?”

“Well, it is kind of ungrateful to yell at a man that bought you and your children a really gorgeous, well-furnished home, and has been doing all he can to make you smile about something he knows is really hard on you…but then again I am biased. He’s my brother.”

“And he’s my husband…that’s put up with me acting like a third child for the last 6 months. You think ‘I’m sorry’ will cut it?”

She shakes her head.

“I don’t either.” Stiles groans. He’s got some serious making up to do. “Where are the boys?”

“Downstairs. In the basement.”

“You left them alone in a basement, Cora?!”

Stiles rushes into the kitchen. He finds a side door by the walk-in pantry and opens the door, running down the steps into…a [playroom](http://www.houzz.com/photos/1792944/Downtown-Aspen-Residence-traditional-kids-other-metro); bright-colored walls and rugs with neatly tucked away toy bins and a shelf of board games and children’s books.

_Derek really went all out._

Theo mashes Play-D’oh at a small table while John draws on a chalkboard wall.

“Look, potato! I drew a picture of the new house,” John says with a big, proud smile on his little face.

“It’s beautiful, doodlebug.”

Cora sits on the bottom step, looking perfectly smug.

“Asshole,” he whispers at her.

She giggles. “Come on. We can’t stick Derek and Boyd with all the hard work.”

He nods. He turns to his boys. “Hey, you two, stay put. Understood?” Stiles is met with distracted “uh-huhs.” “Boys. What did potato just say?”

“Stay put,” they answer.

“Good. Don’t move. I’ll get you a snack later, okay?”

Stiles notices a [baby monitor](http://www.toysrus.com/product/index.jsp?productId=57493376) on the shelf. He turns it on and clips the walkie onto his jeans. He and Cora head back upstairs. Stiles leaves the door wide open. He and Cora walk back into the foyer. Stiles grabs the dolly when he notices a swarm of bright colors and giggles surround Derek and Boyd.

“What is that,” Cora asks, disgust in her tone.

“I don’t know. Let’s go check it out.”

He and Cora walk down the driveway, approaching a huddle of women.

Stiles clears his throat. Derek motions to him and Cora. “Oh, uh, this is—”

The cluster of women turn their heads to Stiles and Cora. They’re all big, white smiles. Each of them in floral pattern [full skirts](https://www.google.com/search?q=full+skirt+dress+50s+style&espv=2&biw=1440&bih=775&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0CAcQ_AUoAmoVChMIz-_C18HtxwIVgi6ICh2n6Afa#imgrc=_), make up, and heels, holding ceramic dishes of food covered with Saran wrap.

“Don’t tell me,” says the blonde in front. “Your lovely wife and brother.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at her incorrect assumption.

“Um, no. This is my youngest sister, Cora. And my husband, Stiles,” Derek corrects.

“Oh! My apologies. How lovely to meet you both,” she says sweetly, but Stiles can hear the condescension under her tone. “Girls.”

“Welcome to Beacon Hills,” they brighten in harmony.

“Jesus Christ,” Cora mumbles under her breath.

Stiles snickers. He catches Derek’s glare and stops.

_Fuck._

“I’m Katherine, but everyone calls me ‘[Kate](http://33.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0t2hz8EYZ1r8ft4k.gif)’,” says the blonde, who seems to be the leader of the pack. “I hope you don’t mind, but we heard you were moving in today, so I called the girls and said: ‘Girls, pull out your recipe box and get to work. We have new neighbors!’ We’re so excited to welcome you to our little, seaside town. Especially such a big celebrity athlete as your husband.”

Derek blushes at Kate’s flattery. It makes Stiles’ stomach knot.

“Why thank you, Kate. Aren’t you sweet,” Stiles says with a tight smile.

“The sweetest,” Cora mocks.

Stiles fights everything in him not to laugh.

Kate hands over the dish in her hands to Stiles. “I made you a pot of my famous [tomato & basil pasta](http://www.marthastewart.com/978784/one-pan-pasta),” she tells Stiles.

“Oh, uh, wow. Th-Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Stiles. I know moving day can be very stressful, especially for your hard-working man, which could make dinner late. We wouldn’t want that. So we thought we’d help, because that’s what we do here in Beacon Hills: we look out for one another.”

“That’s really nice,” Derek chimes in.

“Oh. It’s nothing. Just us silly girls being neighborly, that’s all,” she giggles at him.

“I’m 10 seconds from dumping this on her head,” Stiles grumbles under his breath to Cora.

“What was that,” Kate asks.

“I said this smells amazing. I can’t wait to try it,” Stiles covers.

“Just a little something I whipped up quick. No big deal. Should we put the rest of the entrees in the kitchen?”

“Oh, well, uh, I don’t—”

“Of course. Go right on in,” Derek tells them.

“Perfect,” Kate squeaks. She takes the pot from Stiles’ hands and sashshays toward the house. The rest of her ‘troops’ follow.

“Be nice,” Derek mouths to Stiles.

He’s already received to hard glares and gotten into a fight with his husband today. No need to add to the list of things he’ll have to apologize for later.

“Fine,” he mouths back.

“I’m staying here to help Derek and Boyd. Not so sure I can deal with…all that,” Cora dismisses, much to Stiles’ disappointment. She’s abandoned him. He doesn’t blame her.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Derek says to her. Cora makes a snooty face at him before climbing into the back of the moving truck.

Stiles takes a deep breath and puts on his best fake smile as he approaches the house. At least they were nice enough to wait at the door for him instead of letting themselves in.

“Welcome to my home,” he says politely. He steps inside, inviting them in. They enter, marveling and whispering to one another.

“What a lovely house. It’s so beautiful and stately. Like _Downton Abbey_ ,” Kate compliments.

“Thank you. And I love that show,” he says honestly.

“We do, too. Every Sunday we girls get together and watch.”

“Oh, like a viewing party. I love those. Derek and I have one every season of _Game of Thrones_. Do you watch that, too?”

“Oh, no. It’s far too brutal for our taste. Right, girls?”

“Yes,” they smile at Stiles in unison.

_Creepy._

“Uh, yeah. I-I can understand that. Um, why don’t we make our way to the kitchen?” Stiles leads the way, hearing them whisper compliments about his home. Admittedly, it feels good. He can’t remember the last time someone said something nice about his old house. Or if ever.

The women gasps as they enter the [kitchen](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13770932/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-kitchen-other-metro) with him. Stiles can’t help the smile on his face at their awe.

_It is a really nice kitchen._

“Are these 19th century English Clover lamps,” Kate asks about the light fixtures over the island.

“Um, I don’t know. I didn’t design the house. Derek did.”

Their attention snaps wide-eyed and stunned at him, like he just spat on the floor.

“He has a better eye for this stuff than I do, so…”

“…Interesting,” Kate says finally. “Well…does your exquisite home have a name? Such a grand house should be called something.”

“Um… How about…Hale House Manor…or something?”

“That’s nice. I hope Derek approves, but if not, I’m sure he’ll come up with something a lot better that you’ll love.”

“Derek and I don’t exactly need each other’s approval; we need each other’s trust rather. We talk things out and work through them. We compromise.”

“…Interesting,” she says again.

Stiles stakes a breath. _Derek asked you to be nice, so be nice, Stiles_ , he tells himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get all your names.”

“Well, you already know me, Kate, but this is my wonderful sister-in-law, Victoria. My niece, Allison, Victoria’s daughter. This is Lydia, who is married to my son, Jackson. And beside her is Kira, who is married to my other son, Isaac.”

“Wow. Whole family. Sweet.”

“We’re very close, and being neighbors helps us stay connected.”

“No doubt.” Stiles misses his parents every day and wishes they were alive and well with him now, but he doesn’t think he could ever live next door to them if they were.

“Then we have Marin, Jennifer, Violet, and my beautiful daughter, Malia.”

They smile at him, toothy and pleasant. It’s like they’re on stage at the Miss America pageant.

“You’re all such…lovely, nice women.”

They blush and smile bashfully at being flattered.

_And you’re weird. Really fucking weird._

Kate gasps, knocking Stiles out of his judgmental thoughts.

“Look at the time! It’s almost four o’clock, girls.”

“Is everything alright? Why is 4pm such a worrying hour?”

“Why it’s close to supper time, silly. We have to get home to make dinner,” Kate responds.

_Dear God, why did I ask?_

“Thank you inviting us in, Stiles. You truly have a stunning home. I hope we can come over again soon.”

“Of course,” he says, like he means it.

“And I’d love to meet your children. Derek says you have twin boys. My Isaac has twin girls. A playdate perhaps?”

Kira nods her head.

“Um, sure. Let me talk it over with Derek.”

“Oh, absolutely! I’d hate to get you into a spat with the man of the house.”

Stiles is completely over this. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you ladies leave your wonderful looking dishes here, on the island, and I’ll pack them away. Hopefully I’ll get your plates and such back to you soon.”

“No rush,” Kate reassures.

“Wonderful,” Stiles says through his teeth.

They leave the food on the island as asked. He notices each dish has an index card with the corresponding woman's name on it along with it's recipe, written in perfect cursive and pink ink. “Ladies.” He escorts them from the house. Each of them say their ‘goodbyes’ to him as they leave, and to Derek as they pass by he and Boyd carrying the last of the boxes into the house.

Stiles watches as the women walk in uniform down the road.

“What the fuck was that,” Cora asks, taking the words right out of Stiles’ mouth.

“The June Cleaver fan club? I don’t know,” Stiles grimaces.

“It’s mid-afternoon and they were all in heels and make up,” Cora laughs.

Boyd shrugs. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Oh, come on, Boyd. You can’t tell me they weren’t bizarre as all hell. They were like women of a bygone era. It’s like the 60s on didn’t happen to them or something.”

“Or maybe they enjoy emulating women’s fashion from that era.”

“And if the feminist, civil rights, and the gay pride movement somehow escaped them, why were they so nice about us,” Derek butts in. “Why were they so nice to Boyd?”

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but two of those charming ladies were black,” Boyd adds.

“We didn’t say they were racist or homophobic. Just…weird,” Cora corrects.

“Nothing weird about being neighborly. Or looking your best at all hours of the day,” Derek says.

The comment wasn’t in the least bit directed at Stiles, but Derek’s offhandedness about it makes him glance down at his worn blue jeans with the holes in the knees, and [Star Wars graphic tee](http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?category=M_APP_TEESSHORT&id=29331410&color=001&cm_mmc=CJ-_-Affiliates-_-Lyst+Ltd-_-11292048) speckled with bleach spots on the hem. “Cora’s right. They were weird. And oddly sexist.”

“You two. I swear…” Derek shakes his head. “Its like it’d kill you to be nice sometimes.”

“Seriously, Derek. They were shocked when I said we don’t ask each other for permission about stuff. That we compromise.”

Derek scoffs. “Oh, yeah? And what do we compromise on,” he says stacking Stiles’ photography equipment by the dark room.

“They thought I should ask you about naming the house, asshole, but I named it myself without you.”

“You know that’s pretty much a bad example of compromise you were trying to present to them, right? You kind of did the opposite instead,” Derek says smugly.

_Dammit._

“So what pop culture, Batman-related name did you give this place?”

Stiles takes offense to that, as though he's just a big, goofy nerd and not an adult with degree in Communications and hasn't read Vergil. “None. I named it Hale House Manor,” Stiles bites back.

Derek is visibly taken aback. As is Cora and Boyd.

“I’m going to bring the boys upstairs for a snack. Hopefully they’ll eat some of what the Betty Draper crew brought over.” Stiles disappears into the kitchen.

Cora punches her brother in the arm.

“What the hell was that for?”

“First he’s the dick and now you?”

Derek rolls his eyes, and Boyd chuckles at the ridiculousness that is his friends.

»»»

Boyd and Cora stay the night. It’s been an extra long day and driving back 5 hours in a moving truck has absolutely no appeal to anyone.

Stiles manages to get most of their belongings put away in the right places. He feels it his job to while Derek and Boyd drink a few beers and relaxed outside by the [fire pit](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13765675/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-patio-other-metro), seeing as how he barely did any of the actual moving himself today. Cora, however, disappears to entertain her nephews after they’re fed.

Derek smartly called the electric, gas, water, and cable companies two weeks ago to have everything turned on and installed. The four of them sit in front of the TV eating Lydia’s [baked ziti with sausage](http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/baked-ziti-sausage) while watching _Modern Family_ reruns and sharing a bottle of red wine.

John and Theo tire themselves out early. Stiles put them to [bed](http://www.houzz.com/photos/1539043/Modern-Bungalow-modern-kids-dallas) before they broke out the wine.

They unanimously decide its their own bedtime when Cora’s yawning grows contagious.

Stiles manages to find the extra linen and makes up the two guest rooms for Boyd and Cora. Boyd is out like a light the moment his head hits the pillow.

Cora finishes brushing her teeth by the time Stiles is done making her [bed](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13771394/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-bedroom-other-metro).

“Are we difficult people,” she asks, closing the door.

Stiles chuckles wryly. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Well, there’s our answer.” She takes a seat on the bed. “It’s just that… Boyd was kind of defending those Suzy Homemakers, you know? Like…Like he wouldn’t mind a woman like that.”

Stiles joins her on the bed. “Boyd’s too smart, too good of a guy to ever want some bobblehead who can’t think for herself.”

“Maybe. But is it so bad being like that? What exactly is wrong with looking nice and making dinner for your man?”

He’s trying to think of an answer, but he’s got nothing. Broken down into simple parts like that makes it hard to argue with. “Nothing. I guess.”

“Which brings me back to my original question. We’re difficult people.”

Stiles thinks of how obstinate he’s been since Derek even suggested they move from the city and to a nicer, quieter neighborhood. Some place less hectic their boys could run around and play without fear of being struck by a trolly. They’ve always dreamed of a house with a big yard and a pool, one of those picturesque suburbs that look great on billboards for homeowner’s insurance. But Stiles forgot all about it once the boys came along, and raising them in the city became the norm. After that, he couldn’t think of them growing up anywhere else.

But then the owner of their favorite coffeeshop was robbed at gunpoint, their neighbors across the street were arrested for numerous felonies, a friend of theirs, Mason and his boyfriend Brett, were gay-bashed, Stiles still couldn’t find work, his father passed away, and Derek got offered a job coaching baseball for Beacon State University, a Division I school.

Stiles’ arguments no longer held water and he lost the fight, choosing to be whiny and negative the whole time instead. And Derek took it patiently, trying his hardest to make it a smooth transition for Stiles to adjust to, despite his childish behavior.

“Yeah. Maybe we are,” he admits.

“Maybe you should give the Barbie Brigade a chance. I mean, they were nice to us, and brought over food,” she shrugs.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“And maybe I should slap some paint on my face and wear something other than yoga pants and [flannel shirts](http://www.forever21.com/Product/Product.aspx?BR=F21&Category=top_plaids&ProductID=2000173800&VariantID=).”

“I think you’d look amazing in a burlap sack and your face covered in mud.”

She laughs.

He leans down and pecks his cheek. “And so would Boyd,” he whispers in her ear. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles walks to the end of the hall and up to the third floor to the [master bedroom](http://www.houzz.com/photos/42826554/Marsh-side-Retreat-beach-style-bedroom-charleston). He flops down on the bed.

After a moment, Derek comes out of the adjoining bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair wet. There’s a gloss of water still glistening on his chest that makes Stiles’ mouth go dry.

“I checked on the boys before I jumped in the shower,” Derek says, talking off his towel to drying his hair.

Stiles sits up. “…I’m sorry.”

Derek pulls the towel off his head and runs his fingers through his onyx-colored hair.

“This house is amazing, Derek. Everything about it is…amazing. You’re amazing. And I’m a spoiled brat who can’t handle change.”

“…I just want to make you happy, Stiles.”

“I know that. I really do. You have made me happy, Derek. You always make me happy. I’m sorry if I don’t show my appreciation of that enough. I’m sorry that I’m…difficult.”

Seems to be the word of the night.

“Stiles, I love you. No matter what. No matter how difficult you can be. I can be too much, too.”

“Not this time. This one’s all me. We don’t need to exchange apologies here.”

Stiles climbs off the bed and crosses the room to Derek. He presses his lips softly against his husband’s. Derek loses his hold on the towel, letting it drop to the carpeted floor, deepening their kiss. It’s persistent and lustful, wet with tongues and hands carding though hair.

Stiles walks Derek to the closest wall, pressing his back against it. His eager lips move to Derek’s neck; licking, sucking, and biting. Derek moans low in Stiles’ ear. Stiles’ hand slides down Derek’s chest. His stomach. Griping his half-hard cock and turning it fully-erect in seconds.

Stiles’ lips closely follow the trail left behind by his hand.

“Stiles…”

He takes Derek into his mouth, to the back of his salivating mouth.

He digs nails into the taut muscles of Derek’s hip. His other hand gently rubs behind his balls at the taint as he sucks greedily on the older man’s thick cock.

Derek’s hands run through Stiles’ hair. Stiles knows what he wants. He keeps still, encouraging Derek to surge forward with lean fingers on his hips, pulling him closer, away from the wall and deeper into his mouth.

Derek fucks his mouth, easy but obscene as Stiles drools down his own chin and neck as he chokes a bit.

Derek’s close.

Stiles takes Derek’s hand from his hair and puts it on his throat, letting him squeeze a bit.

Derek’s breath quickens. His other hand in Stiles’ hair tightens. He comes, spilling down his husband’s throat, and feeling him swallow every drop.

Stiles sucks at Derek’s head, tongue pressed against his frenulum, working him gradually through his orgasm.

“Shit, Stiles…”

He eases off Derek’s dick with a web of spit from his debauched mouth. Derek bends down and licks at it, tasting himself there. Stiles whimpers into the sloppy, wet kiss it turns into.

“Get on the bed and take off all your clothes.”

Stiles doesn’t hesitate, getting to his feet and moving to the bed.

Derek’s still hard. Cock shining with Stiles’ spit all over it, red and flushed, standing at attention and ready. Stiles is completely naked when Derek goes into the bathroom and comes out with a small bottle of lube and Stiles’ favorite [sex toy](http://www.adameve.com/adult-sex-toys/vibrators/anal-vibrators/sp-black-magic-ribbed-vibrator-84547.aspx).

_No wonder I couldn’t find it when I was unpacking…_

Derek wraps his arms under Stiles’ legs, and yanks him to the edge of the bed. He leans over him and kisses him hard, leaving Stiles panting when he comes up for air.

“I love you, Derek. I swear to God I do.”

Derek places a gentle kiss just under Stiles’ chin. “I love you, too.” His lips return to Stiles’ mouth, this time in a chaste kiss that’s tender and warm.

“I really do love this house,” Stiles says earnestly.

Derek’s finger traces Stiles’ collarbone. “Good. It’s for you, Stiles. Nothing I do isn’t.”

 _New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings_ , he remembers. Maybe Beacon Hills isn’t so weird. Maybe it’s just new, and what was once old seemed better only because it was too painful to let go. Maybe he’ll be happy here.

There’s no reason he shouldn’t be. Especially since he’s got his boys, and a man that’ll do just about anything to make him happy. No matter how difficult he can be.


	2. Paperdolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets some one-on-one time with a neighbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles nor Derek dies in this fic. Trust in the 'Happy Ending' tag :)

* * *

Derek’s wound up tighter than a spring. He smells tart and musky as he wakes up in a pool of sweat. It’s his first day. Stiles knew he’d be nervous, so he follows him into the [shower](http://www.houzz.com/photos/17902294/New-West-Classic-traditional-bathroom-vancouver), rubbing his shoulders and kissing his neck.

“Relax, big guy,” he whispers in Derek’s ear.

His hand travels south along Derek’s body, clasping around his cock.

Derek needs release. He’s full of first day jitters and taut as an iron coil.

He turns Stiles around, pressing his face against the wet tile, and fucks him hard and fast.

Stiles comes first. For all his stubbornness and autonomy, there’s nothing he loves more than when Derek uses him blindly like a rag doll. When there’s something brutal and unforgiving in the way Derek takes him. When he’s submissive and Derek’s pure dominance. He loves when Derek’s an animal and he can just be his prey. When they both can shed their pretensions and let go.

They kiss slow and sweet under the spray of water as Stiles jerks Derek off until he comes again.

Derek’s shoulders relax. His teeth no longer grinding. Hands no longer shaking.

Stiles steps out of the shower to let Derek properly bathe himself without “distraction.” His work is done; his husband in a better mood than what he work up in, and Stiles starting his morning off deeply satisfied as well.

Win-win.

Stiles slips on an [old T-shirt](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=8693925) and his [running shorts](https://www.underarmour.com/en-us/mens-ua-launch-split-run-shorts/pcid1252068-810?cid=PLA%7CGoogle&gclid=Cj0KEQjwvdSvBRDahavi3KPGrvUBEiQATZ9v0KFJ2mAPuVwK0PY5gmplxoK-I8YfGVmNlhyhpp7_hIsaAmx38P8HAQ) then goes to wake up the boys for breakfast. He and Derek decided to wait until school was out for the summer to move, not wanting to rattle their children with a big move and a new school right in the middle of first grade.

So Stiles has 3 months of summer to figure out how to entertain his boys in the suburbs. It was easy in the city. There’s museums and Golden Gate Park, baby gyms, classes at the YMCA and The Boys and Girls Club of America. He’s sure they have those things here in Beacon Hills, but the work in organizing all that is not something he’s looking forward to.

He kisses them awake with soft whispers and tickles. John gives him a hug and a kiss back, but Theo whines about being woken up until Stiles mentions strawberry pancakes.

Both boys jump out of bed happily and race to the kitchen.

He’s flipping his last pancake and half done his second cup of coffee when Derek rushes into the [room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13770978/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-kitchen-other-metro).

“Shit. I’m late,” he says grabbing two pancakes and snatching Stiles’ coffee from his hand, guzzling the rest. He’s wearing blue jeans, a red and white BSU polo shirt, and matching BSU baseball cap, with a pair of aviators hanging from his open collar.

Stiles glances at the clock on the wall. Derek’s not late. He just always likes to be incredibly early, and now that he’s 5 minutes behind his ridiculous schedule he’s freaking out. Stiles remembers him being almost 2 hours early on the first date. He had just gotten home from work when Derek rang the doorbell dressed in a suit with flowers in his hand.

“Hey, big guy. Take a breath. Just one big breath for me please.”

“I don’t have time to breathe.”

“Well, will you at least let your son give you the good luck card he made you last night?”

“You made Daddy a card, doodlebug,” Derek asks John, full of sentiment. He knows his boys well enough to figure out which one of them it was without asking.

“Yup.” John crawls down from his chair and snatches the construction paper card he made off the table. Derek bends at John’s eye level as his son hands it to him. “Good luck and have a good day, daddy.”

Derek opens it. It’s a crude, child-like drawing of the two of them holding hands and smiling in a field of flowers. Scrawled over their stick figures are the words: _“Have the Bestest Day. #1 Daddy.”_

Derek pulls him close for a hug. “Thank you so much. This is the best card you’ve ever given me.”

“You’re welcome, daddy.”

“Can I give daddy the other stuff, potato,” Theo asks.

“I thought we were going to do it at dinner.”

“No, now! Please! Now,” he and John beg.

“Alright, alright. Quick though. Daddy has to go soon.”

John and Theo scurry out of the room in a cloud of laughter.

“What did you do?”

Stiles winks at him.

John and Theo return, each with a small gift bag in their little hands.

“This one’s from me,” John says, handing over his gift. Derek tosses the two pancakes in hand on the counter and wipes his hand on his jeans before taking the bag from John. He digs through a mess of tissue paper to find a small gift box inside. He opens it. It’s a [baseball stopwatch](http://www.dx.com/p/ps-528-1-4-lcd-screen-round-digital-countdown-timer-stopwatch-silver-376563#.VfYQy_nBzGc).

“Thank you, doodlebug. It’s really nice. I love it,” he says with tears welling in his eyes.

“Me next!” Theo shoves his gift bag at Derek’s chest.

Derek tosses out the tissue paper and opens a small charcoal box with a [silver coach’s whistle](http://www.thingsremembered.com/product/Sports-Whistle-Set/169521.uts) inside. It’s engraved with ‘Coach Hale’ on the side.

“I love it, pork chop. It’s beautiful.” He pulls both boys into his arms and kisses their heads. “I love you two so much. Thank you.”

They squeeze him back as tight as their little arms can pinch.

Derek breaks their hug to slip his stopwatch and his whistle over his head. “How do I look?”

“Professional,” John says.

Derek laughs. “Thank you.” He gets to his feet and yanks Stiles close to him. “You should really try and put the boys to bed early tonight,” he whispers in Stiles’ ear.

“This morning not enough,” Stiles teases.

“Never,” Derek says. He nips at Stiles’ chin, squeezing his ass. “I got to go.”

“Wish daddy luck one more time, boys.”

“Good luck,” they shout.

“Thank you.” Derek kisses all three of them quick before grabbing John’s card and his pancakes, then racing out the backdoor.

“You think daddy liked our gifts, potato,” John asks.

“I think he _loved_ them.”

“I think he liked mine more,” Theo says.

“Hey, now. Stop that. None of that. He loved them both equally. Understand?”

They nod.

“Good. Now sit so you can eat your breakfast.”

“Can we eat them in the [TV room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13774387/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-family-room-other-metro) and watch cartoons, potato,” John asks.

“Please,” Theo begs.

[Strawberry pancakes](http://sallysbakingaddiction.com/2015/06/18/strawberry-buttermilk-pancakes-with-honey-butter/) and the _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ sound pretty awesome to Stiles, too. “Yes, but do not tell daddy. Or get syrup everywhere,” Stiles tells them, even though he knows one of those things is wishful thinking. And it’s not them telling Derek they ate on the couch.

»»»

Stiles passes the house closest to them when his [fitness tracker](https://www.groupon.com/deals/gg-new-balance-lifetrnr-fitness-tracking-sports-watch?deal_option=bcc5abdc-4bd4-475f-853c-21700499b7bb&utm_source=Google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=US_DT_SEA_GGL_TIM_TTT_PADS_CBP_CHP_NBR_g*gg-new-balance-lifetrnr-fitness-tracking-sports-watch_c*80981113141_k*_m*_d*Goods-Product-Ads_keyword*_target*_adposition*1o3_prodtarget*96917740809_adtype*pla&gclid=Cj0KEQjwvdSvBRDahavi3KPGrvUBEiQATZ9v0M2j1scoHKAVEq1D59sdQcC7tRGurCf6gWSqqcug_zMaAg4M8P8HAQ) beeps on his wrist.

_7 miles. Over 1,000 calories. Not bad._

John and Theo ride ahead of him. Despite their age, and the training wheels on their bikes, they’ve managed to keep up. And didn’t complain about being tired or wanting to go home given the distance. Stiles admires the resilience that comes with being so young and curious.

He reaches the end of their driveway. “I think we’re good for the day, boys.” He wipes the sweat from his brow with the hem of his T-shirt, taking deep breaths.

“I want to ride around the curve again, potato.”

“I don’t think so, Theo. Potato is exhausted. And hungry. I’ll make us some lunch and then we can go swimming in the pool.” Stiles is still getting used to the fact that he’s living in a 4 million dollar, 6 bedroom home and its own pool.

In San Francisco, their financial position wasn’t so apparent and on display as it is with their home here in Beacon Hills. He liked that about the city. He liked that they could easily blend in and were rarely treated all that differently there. It made him nervous to think about how they’d be treated in a small, suburban town where it wasn’t so easy to meld into the crowd.

“Potato. There’s a lady by the door.”

Stiles looks up to see the blurry image of a brunette in something with colors all over it, wave happily to him. He’s nearsightedness is worse after jogging in the bright sun.

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know, but I guess we should be neighborly and go say ‘hi’.”

He may have no clue as to which one of the Paperdolls (as he’s taken to calling them) she is, but he has no doubt she’s a member.

The boys hop off their bikes and walk them toward the house following behind Stiles.

The closer he gets the more he can make out her dark brown hair and big, friendly smile. She’s wearing a sleeveless, full [skirt](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/dd/48/a4/dd48a4a872a521994e95c98b09cb814e.jpg) with blue roses on it, heels, perfect make up, and a set of white pearls. Her smiles manages to widen more excitedly the closer Stiles comes.

“Hi!”

“Hello.”

“I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this. I just had a free moment and thought I’d come over for a little chat while my girls are in ballet class. I’m your neighbor. I live in the house right next to you. How are you settling in?”

“Uh, good. We’re doing alright. We, uh, got everything unpacked and just taking it all in, trying to get to know the neighborhood.”

“That’s wonderful,” she says in a high, cheery voice. She peeks around Stiles’ legs. “And how are you boys liking Beacon Hills? Did you have a nice bike ride?”

Theo answers “yes,” but John just nods; withdrawn around strangers. Stiles doesn’t blame him.

“Well, good. How was your jog? I love going for a run. I get up every morning at 6AM and just pound my feet against the pavement as the sun comes up. Watching it over the water is so beautiful.” She gasps. “We should go jogging together!”

_Fuck. That._

“Um, I’m sorry, and quite frankly embarrassed, but what was your name again?”

She laughs loud with a snort, covering her face with the notepad in her hand as she continues to giggle. It’s the first time Stiles has noticed she has it. He was too focused on her getting to the point and hopefully disappearing inside once she did.

“I am such a Chatty Kathy! I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself. Goof,” she laughs again. She extends a hand to Stiles. “My name is [Allison McCall](http://38.media.tumblr.com/c6a47ee71575c38fff9d1a6a1476b858/tumblr_nquvtrabwN1srusg2o2_500.gif).”

“Allison. Right. You’re the…[Watergate salad](http://www.kraftrecipes.com/recipes/watergate-salad-53771.aspx),” he remembers. He and Derek stared at the green goop, not being able to comprehend what exactly it was until Stiles recalled it came with a card. When looking at the ingredients he dared Derek to try it first. Within 15 minutes the both of them had devoured it completely.

“Yes! Did you like it?”

“We loved it actually. Thank you.”

“Fantastic! I’m so happy.”

She stood there smiling at him as he waited for her to say something regarding her presence…

 _Well, looks like I’m going to have to be the one to get this train on the right track it seems…_ “So, Allison, what brings you over?”

“Oh! I almost forgot! I’m so silly. Scott’s always telling how off track I get.”

He wants to laugh at her inadvertently stumbling on his train metaphor.

“I write a lifestyle column for The Beacon Hills Gazette and was wondering if I could profile you.”

“Oh, wow. Really?”

She nods. “It’s to introduce you to the community and show them what lovely people you and your family are.”

The entire time he’s been with Derek, Stiles has given a total of 5 interviews. Four of them were with Derek, and three of those were broadcasted on TV. The day he met Oprah Winfrey, Stiles thought he’d faint, because, well… Oprah.

Stiles typically shied away from the press, and found the whole thing daunting when he and Derek first started dating. He imagined dating a major league baseball player would be to anyone not used to fame.

Stiles not only wanted to keep his sanity, but also he and Derek’s privacy. Therefore, he only gave interviews at Derek’s behest, but told both his husband and his agent, Finstock, that he wasn’t a puppet and if he had to speak to the press that he be allowed to say whatever he wanted. Finstock, and Derek’s publicist fought him on it, but Derek had his back, and insisted that Stiles be allowed to be himself if he were to give interviews.

“That’s really nice, and flattering, but I don’t really say yes to something like that without talking to Derek first.”

“Oh, well, I already spoke to Derek and he said it was alright.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He said he left you a voicemail.”

Stiles unlocks the door and motions for Allison to come in. The boys leave their bikes outside and hurry in, too.

“I will never get over how lovely your home is,” Allison says.

“Thank you. Boys, you can go watch TV or to the playroom. I’ll give you guys a bathe and make you some lunch in a minute, okay?”

John and Theo scurry to the TV room.

“Come in.” Stiles walk to the kitchen with Allison behind him. He grabs his cellphone off the island and notices he has a voicemail message from Derek:

_“Hey, you. It’s me. Um, Allison, I think her name is, swung by the school today and I gave her a little interview for the local paper. Nothing major. She asked if she could speak to you, too, and I said it’s up to you. Just wanted to give you a heads up in case she stops by. I love you, and really can’t stop thinking about the shower this morning. Kiss the boys for me.”_

Stiles can’t help the blushing smile on his face and the awaiting follow up he hopes happens later tonight.

“Did the hubby say it was okay,” Allison asks.

“Oh, um, yeah. It’s fine.”

“Great!” She takes a seat at the [breakfast nook](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13771095/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-dining-room-other-metro), flipping to a clean page in her notepad, with an anticipating smile on her face.

“Now? You want to do this now?”

Stiles stinks. He just ran 7 miles. His skin is clammy, hair drying with absorbed sweat, and knees aching. He wants a shower, change of clothes, and a nap after he makes the boys their lunch.

“Would you mind? I have the next hour free while my girls are at dance class.”

“I’m not really at my best right now. For company or an interview and—”

“Oh! Would you like to shower and change your clothes? I can wait here and watch your boys. I can even make them a snack while you get ready.”

It’s a tempting offer, but years of growing up in a major city and being the son of a cop doesn’t afford him the ability to trust people right off the bat like Derek can. The last thing he’s going to do is let a stranger watch is children without properly vetting them first. No matter how cookie cutter they appear.

“No. You know what, its fine. It’s okay. We can do the interview now.”

“Oh, goody,” she says, clapping her hands.

Stiles is 3 seconds from outright laughing at her. _Be nice_ , he reminds himself. “Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?”

“Do you have freshly squeezed lemonade?”

“Um…no.”

“Oh. Well… That’s okay. Water is fine.”

Stiles gets the distinct impression him not having made “freshly squeezed lemonade” is something he’s being silently judged on. Like when he told Kate he didn’t design the house but Derek did.

 _God. How can these women live in the 21st century_ , he thinks, pouring Allison a glass of ice water.

“Would you happen to have a lime wheel,” she asks.

_Jesus._

Stiles grabs a lime and cuts it into circles, hanging one on the rim of her glass before handing it to her.

“Thank you.”

He gives her a tight smile, pours himself a glass of ice water, and then takes a seat across from her.

“Alrighty! Let’s begin. For the record, what is your full name?”

“Oh, uh, my birthname is an unpronounceable disaster so I just go by ‘Stiles’. Stiles Stilinski-Hale.”

She writes it down. “So you’re Polish?”

“Half Polish from my dad’s side. A quarter Irish and a quarter English from my mom.”

“I think your husband listed every country in Europe when I asked him.”

Stiles laughs. “He goes off on some tangent that he draws back from generation upon generation when really it all boils down to German, Scottish, and [black Irish](http://www.wisegeek.org/what-is-black-irish.htm).”

Allison giggles. She’s a pretty girl with an inviting smile, walnut-colored hair and matching eyes. She’s honestly adorable, like a Disney woodland creature, but there’s also something innocent and kind about her, like a fairytale princess. Belle from _Beauty and the Beast_ comes to Stiles’ mind.

“And how old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“And why did you and your husband move to Beacon Hills?”

“Well, as you probably already know, Derek blew out his knee during the World Series three years ago and went through a lot of surgeries and physical therapy afterward. He tried getting back into the game, but it was really hard for him. Eventually he realized he had to quit, and give up something that he loves to do more than anything. He eats, sleeps, and shits baseball.”

Stiles doesn’t miss the wide-eyed expression on Allison’s face at his swearing. It makes the corner of his mouth tick upward for split second at having shocked her.

“Has since he was a little kid, you know? He gave a big chuck of his life to the game, and it was tough watching him having to retire. It broke my heart seeing him lose something he loved so much. Especially since he was so damn good at it, you know? He was a big part of the [Giants](http://sanfrancisco.giants.mlb.com/index.jsp?c_id=sf) for a long time. He misses it every day. I miss it for him… But we have to move on, right? So, Derek thought coaching would be something he could do. He got a lot of offers, but he really fell in love with BSU and thought it’d be good to make a home here.”

“Aw. That was very sweet, and beautiful, Stiles.”

“Just speaking from the heart.” He is. It nearly broke him just as much as Derek to see him forced into early retirement because of his knee injury. Stiles cried buckets during Derek’s last game. He was glad his father was there with him, along with Derek’s mother, Talia, Cora, and Derek’s eldest sister, Laura.

“How did you two meet?”

Stiles laughs recalling the memory. “I worked for a radio station. I was the producer of a few shows. Most of them terrible, but one was a sports show. Derek came in for an interview. Afterward, I caught him hiding in the men’s room from his publicist, Heather, who was trying to rope him into going on a very public date with the station owner’s daughter. This spoiled, little Veruca Salt of a girl who was only 24 years old at the time, but had already been married and divorced twice to two famous baseball players, so needless to say, Derek wasn’t exactly excited at the idea of dating her. Plus, she met Derek for all of 5 seconds before getting all grabby hands with him. She was such a Annie. But Heather being Heather…”

Stiles has had a strained relationship with Derek’s PR people, namely is publicist, Heather, for years now. Heather frequently made attempts to “tone down” Stiles’ sarcastic rhetoric and make him more “likable,” as she put it, to the public.

However, Stiles isn’t dim. He knows he’s mouthy and outspoken; which is also a reason he rarely agrees to give interviews. Derek has a reputation for being an affable, generous, and approachable guy. Stiles never wants to destroy any of that with his “colorful personality,” but he also refuses to change his persona for anyone. Therefore, he thought the best compromise would be to avoid the spotlight, which suited him just fine.

“Long story short, I helped Derek hid out for a bit in my office. We talked for a while and then my assistant came to tell me the taxi Derek asked me to call him was out back. We snuck him out the fire exit and he left. The next day I got a dozen roses and a thank you card sent to my office from him. And unbeknownst to me, my sneaky assistant, Mason, gave him my number. The season had started and he was on the road, so all we did was talk for weeks on end. Then, when he came back to San Francisco for a home game, he took me on our first date.”

“So cute,” she whines as she scribbles in her notepad.

“You know you might want to get yourself a tape recorder.”

“Oh, I have a good memory and write better when there’s physical notes in front of me I can refer back to. How did he propose to you?”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry. That story is private and I don’t share it with anyone.” It wasn’t embarrassing, just special, and Stiles always fought to keep it private.

“I understand. How long have the two of you been married?”

“Almost 8 years.”

“You married young.”

“When you know you know, right?”

“Exactly how I feel about my Scott.”

“He’s a lucky man.”

She blushes, making Stiles feel good about complimenting her.

“What’s it like having twin boys?”

“Challenging at times, fun most of the time, and exhausting all of the time. But I have good boys. I think Derek and I are raising them the best way we know how and so far it’s been okay.”

“Derek says your sons call you ‘potato’. Why is that?”

“It used to be Papa, but a friend of theirs that spoke Spanish told them ‘papa’ in Spanish meant ‘potato’ and its stuck ever since.”

“I love that! And so will my readers.”

“Good.”

“What’s your favorite meal to cook?”

“Oh, uh, [_pierogi_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pierogi#Poland). It’s a Polish dish. I make it every year for the boys on their birthday and on Christmas Day.”

“Lovely. Other than running, what else do you do to keep in shape for your man?”

Stiles is thrown a bit by the tail end of her question. “Um… I stay in shape for myself, my own mental and physical well being, and because of my dad, who died from eating unhealthy and not exercising.”

He’s waiting for her to understand, or follow up his comment with an adjacent question, or at least a half-hearted apology, but her face is blank as she stares at him...

“Swimming,” he relents, realizing at this rate they would have been sitting here all night. “Jogging and swimming.”

She scribbles it down and Sties rolls his eyes.

“Would you like for your boys to be baseball players like their daddy?”

“I’d like them to be anything they want that makes them happy. Whether that’s a baseball player or a Colombian drug lord,” he says, to see the look on her face. “I’m an encouraging parent.”

“Oh, well…I think that’s quite enough for my column,” she responds, sounding a bit uncomfortable now.

“Are you sure? I mean, you didn’t ask me anything about myself.”

“Of course I did, silly.”

“No, you didn’t. All your questions centered around me being a husband and a father. You didn’t asking anything pertaining to just me.”

“Well, that is you.”

_Wow._

“No. I have hobbies and interests and things in my life that’ve occurred before I met Derek and became a father. Important things. Like graduating high school when I was only 16 years old, and going to Stanford. I have a degree in Communications in TV/Film/Radio.”

“Yes, but those things aren’t as important as your family.”

“No, they’re not, but they shape me as an individual. They make me more than just a husband and a father. They show that I have character. My hobbies make me happy and give me unique qualities.”

“But what hobby could be more rewarding to your personality than being a family man?”

_Holy shit. She’s serious._

“You… You don’t think there’s anything else special about you other than being a wife and mother?”

“Being a wife and mother is the only think that should be special.”

 _Oh, no. No no no. Fuck this_. “Allison. What’s your favorite book?”

She genuinely looks surprised by the question.

_You gotta be kidding me._

“Well…” Her head turns up, eyes to the ceiling like she’s really thinking about it, but Stiles doesn’t believe she is actually. It seems more like she’s searching her mind for the appropriate answer to give.

“It’s not a hard question,” he chuckles. “What book have you read and it…jumped out at you? Grabbed you and shook you. Made you feel alive. Make you cry, or laugh or both. What’s the last think you’ve read that really took hold of you?”

“Oh! I know! [_Better Homes & Gardens_](http://www.bhg.com/) October 2011 issue. They have a wonderful recipe in there for pumpkin bread! Until then, I was strictly a [_Southern Living_](http://www.southernliving.com/) kind of girl and then when I was in the waiting room at the dentist, I noticed an old issue of BH&G, and it was their Halloween issue. Well, I started reading it and— don’t tell any one this part—” she giggles and leans in like it’s the biggest secret in the world. “I tore the recipe out of it and put it in my purse.”

“Oh, holy fuck…”

“I know! I’m so bad! My mother calls me her ‘wild child’,” she says with a cheeky smile.

She laughs, but Stiles can’t do anything but bring himself to stare at her with his eyebrows askew.

“I went home and made the bread and it was…magical. The best thing I’ve ever baked. And from them on I cancelled my subscription to Southern Living and I’ve been on the BH&G bandwagon since. So, yeah, I see what you mean about something grabbing you and reaching deep within, speaking to you.”

_Oh. My. God._

“…Um… That’s-That’s… Allison. I meant a book. A piece of real literature. Not-Not a lifestyle magazine. Okay, what, uh, book did you read as a kid and just loved, and read and read and read until you knew every line and the pages were dirty with your fingerprints,” he asks, not willing to give up on this conversation just yet.

_There has got to be some depth to this woman. Somewhere._

“That’s easy. I loved _Peter & Wendy_.”

Now, we’re getting somewhere! “That’s great! Fantastic! What made you love that book?”

“Wendy. I thought she sounded very pretty and would make a good wife to Peter one day.”

“Allison, don’t do this to me please,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay. What is the very last novel you read?”

“Um, that would be [_The Girl on the Train_](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22557272-the-girl-on-the-train).”

“Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to name a Danielle Steele novel or something. Perfect. What did you think of the book?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Why didn’t you like it?”

“It was very dark. And violent. And the young woman narrating seemed very nosy to me.”

“Um, okay. That’s fine, too. Now, why did you initially want to read that book before you were disappointed by it?”

“Because Scott was reading it first and he said he enjoyed it.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Derek recommends books to me all the time, and I do the same for him. He’s the one that told me to read _The DiVinci Code_. Worst book ever, by the way.”

“It’s on our shelf in the living room, but I haven’t read it yet because Scott hasn’t told me to.”

If they were on an airplane, Stiles feels this is the moment they lose cabin pressure. “…What?”

“But you know, come to think of it, I do have a favorite book! It’s _To Kill A Mockingbird_ ,” she beams proudly.

 _Oh, thank Christ_. “That’s a beautiful novel, Allison.”

“And it’s Scott’s favorite book!”

“Yes, but is it yours, too?” He wants to wrap his hands around her pretty, little neck.

“Of course. Anything Scott enjoys is also something I enjoy.”

“Except _The Girl on the Train_ apparently.”

“Oh, well,” she waves off. “He’s a man. They like things like that,” she dismisses.

Stiles feels like his head has been through a blender. “You know what, Allison, I think you were right. I think we’ve talked enough for your column.”

“It was fun, wasn’t it?”

“If that’s what you need to believe.” Stiles stands and grabs a [soufflé dish](http://www.crateandbarrel.com/souffl%C3%A9-dish/s682748?b=1?affiliate=1552&adpos=1o1&creative=44897458376&device=c&matchtype=&network=g&gclid=CjwKEAjwpuSvBRDSkaes4OasuEESJACfwIc_rOfaE9Amr0b0CwXESq8HqzBcBHA8dy8FDbVoLQrAdhoC7jDw_wcB) from the cabinet. “Here’s your dish. Again, the salad was amazing. Thanks for the recipe.”

“You’re very welcome. We really should go running together some time.”

 _If I can stomach it_ , he hides behind a taut smile and curt nod. “Would you mind letting yourself out? I really need to get lunch started for the boys.”

“Not a problem. I know how it is. My column is published every Sunday so look for your interview there.”

“I’m on pins and needles,” he frowns.

“Great. See you around,” she chirps before leaving out the back door.

“Not if I can help it,” he says, watching her disappear around the front of the house.

»»»

“It sounds like a simple fluff piece, baby,” Derek says shoving a piece of [steak](http://www.marthastewart.com/1047309/seared-rib-eye-steak-smashed-potatoes) into his mouth. “I’ve done a ton of them.”

“Derek, I’m telling you it was a weird interview. She didn’t ask me anything about me.”

“It’s a small newspaper in a small town that isn’t even aware enough that print media is on dead. Did you really expect something hard hitting and in-depth?”

“No, but… Derek, she was literally stunned when I said there was more to me than being a husband and a father. It was like she couldn’t fathom my world not revolving around you and the boys.”

“Well, my world revolves around all three of you.”

“You know what I mean. I tried to talk to her about my photography, but since it wasn’t relevant to you and the boys…” He picks at the label on the wine bottle with his thumbnail.

“Stiles. Is this about Allison’s article…or about you?”

“No. I don’t know. Both, maybe?”

“Stiles, we’ve been here a million times before and I don’t want to rehash the same things over and over again and fight about—”

“No. No, Derek. I’m not-I’m not doing that. I swear to you.” He takes Derek’s hand, still clutching his knife, and squeezes it.

They’ve been down that road in the last 5 years more times than Stiles can count, and it always leads to a dead end. They’ve been good about it for months now, so it’s the last thing Stiles wants to drudge up out of the muck.

“It’s not that. It’s just… It was weird, and she was weird. She couldn’t tell me the name of her favorite book, and when she thought of one it wasn’t really hers, it was her husband, Scott’s, favorite book.”

“Maybe she doesn’t read much.”

“Derek everybody has a favorite book. The women here are just so…plastic.”

He shrugs. “A little, but maybe it’s just the town, the area. Like how Midwestern women are different from southern women and women from the south are vastly different from women from the northeast. It’s probably a regional thing that’s been embedded into their way of life for some time now.”

“I guess…”

“Maybe you’re here to show them a more progressive way of living. Get to know them. Infiltrate their bridge club or Tupperware parties or whatever.”

Stiles laughs.

“See what makes them tick and what they care about, then show them what you care about and they might respond to it. I mean, it’s not a completely conservative town. There’s a lesbian couple that lives a house down from us.”

“There is?”

“Kali and Jennifer, I think are their names. The point is we’ve only been here a week, Stiles, and plan on being here for quite a few years. At some point you’re going to have to get to know the neighbors, baby. As odd as they may come across to you.”

He nods. “You’re right. They are strange as fuck, but they’re nice, and our neighbors for the unforeseeable future. I should try knowing them on their turf first. Good idea, Coach Hale.”

“Believe it or not I’m full of them,” he winks at Stiles before taking a sip of his cabernet.

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles asks, with nothing but lust in his tone and lure in his whiskey eyes. His long, lean finger circles around the rim of his wine glass.

“Yeah,” Derek responds with the same craving in his voice.

“Like what?”

Derek stands and scoops up both their wine glasses and the bottle in one hand. He takes Stiles’ hand into his free one, drawing him toward the [pool pavilion](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13769206/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-pool-other-metro).

He sets the glasses and the bottle down on the [garden stool](http://www.wayfair.com/Safavieh-Circle-Lattice-Garden-Stool-ACS4508-FV34286.html) and pulls Stiles close for a kiss.

Their lips don’t part as Derek unbuttons Stiles’ flannel shirt. He takes it off, then works on Stiles’ T-shirt, breaking their kiss only to pull it over his head, but returning his lips in a persistent kiss.

He backs Stiles up against a beam, lifting his left leg to take off his shoe, then doing the same for the other foot.

Derek’s mouth travels to Stiles’ neck, sucking a bruise at his pulse point as he unzips his pants, shucking them down his legs. Stiles steps out of them when they bunch around his ankles.

Derek releases Stiles from his mouth and eager hands long enough to tear his own clothes off. Derek’s retired from baseball going on two years now but is still just as fit as ever. Stiles runs his fingers down Derek’s torso as he takes off his shirt and flings it to the side.

Derek takes off his briefs. Stiles copies, letting his boxers slide down.

Derek divides the bottle of wine between their glasses. He hands Stiles his glass and takes the other. He lugs Stiles into his arms and lifts him up, forcing him to wrap his legs around his waist.

“So where are we going, Coach Hale?”

“’Coach Hale’ sounds really nice coming out of your mouth,” Derek says, sliding his tongue into Stiles’ mouth for a deep kiss.

Derek walks them to the steps of the pool, carefully bringing them into the water as they clutch their wine glasses.

Derek swims out a bit; Stiles still attached to him like Velcro as they wade around in the water, kissing in between sips of wine.

Stiles looks up at the night sky. “I have to admit, there aren’t stars like this in the city. God, that is so beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Derek tells him.

“You are so corny,” Stiles laughs.

“I happen to think that’s one of my best lines, thank you.”

“It’s one of the better ones, yes.”

“Asshole.”

Stiles smirks, sipping his wine.

“Stiles,” Derek’s tone now serious. “…You know I want another kid—”

“Derek—”

“Wait. Just hear me out. I want another child with you, and I know you’re not ready for another one right now and want to focus on your photography. I understand that. I do. I can wait, really. I just… I just want you to think about it a little more, okay? Please?”

Stiles doesn’t need to think about it anymore. He’s thought about every day since Derek brought it up last year, just before his dad died.

He wants another child. He really does, but he also wants to get his photography business off the ground. He wants for Derek and everyone else to stop thinking of it as a hobby but rather something he’s genuinely good at, and can turn into a legit profession.

Bringing another kid into their world at the moment would push his goals further behind than they already are. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to wait any longer to plug away at his dreams. He’s already wasted time majoring in something he hated and working at jobs he couldn’t stand.

It wasn’t until Derek came along that his goals shifted and were realized. But he fell fast and hard in love, and being a husband and father suddenly became more important than a dream he’s had since he was ten.

The boys are older now, going to school, having friends and activities that keep them busy, leaving him with more free time to focus on his work, which he enjoys.

Another kid right now… He just can’t.

But Derek’s looking at him with pleading eyes, asking him only to think about it. Stiles knows it’s in hopes that he’ll change his mind, but he decided months ago indefinitely on his answer, and it’s the same one he’s given his husband going on a year now. Nothing’s changed for him.

“Okay. I’ll think about it more.”

Derek smiles. “That’s all I ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek used a surrogate to have their boys. There is no mpreg in this verse. Sorry :(
> 
> And I personally love Better Homes & Gardens and Southern Living.


	3. Baggage and Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles manages to make a real friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the long wait of the next update. Will try and work on getting chapter 4 out in a week.

* * *

Lydia Whittemore is last on his list. They ate her baked ziti with sausage on their first night in the house, with Cora and Boyd, but the white casserole dish has been sitting on the counter with the index card she left with it for 4 weeks now.

He’s decided to take Derek’s advice. One by one he’s returned the empty dishes of (delicious) food back to their corresponding matron.

On Monday it was a bowl that contained the [spinach and mushroom quinoa](http://juliasalbum.com/2014/06/spinach-and-mushroom-quinoa-recipe/) Jennifer made them.

Tuesday it was a pot to Kira Whittemore, who made them [shrimp and asparagus risotto](http://www.womansday.com/food-recipes/food-drinks/recipes/a11351/shrimp-asparagus-risotto-recipe-122695/). The next day he returned an empty pot to Victoria Argent. She made them a really hearty [beef stew](http://www.chowhound.com/recipes/easy-beef-stew-30301) he practically ate all by himself. Thursday he did double duty, returning the pot Kate made pasta in, and the soufflé dish her daughter, Malia, used for [chicken pot pie](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/chicken-pot-pie-recipe.html).

He and Derek particularly liked the pot of [gumbo](http://www.louisianacookin.com/seafood-gumbo/) made by Marin Morrell, who lived right next to Kate. Along with the [sweet potato pie](http://austingastronomist.com/thanksgiving-sweet-potato-pie/) that was given to them by Violet, who it seems, is the daughter of Beacon Hills’ general practitioner, Dr. Alan Deaton.

He’s been putting off returning Lydia’s dish, however, due to the intimidating stature of her [house](http://www.houzz.com/projects/971127/carmel-by-the-sea-lantern-house). It’s about half the size of his own home, but hideously modern. One of those homes that’s like a museum; heavily designed and intriguing, but you doubt anyone actually lives there. Stiles thought the architecture of it disturbed the quaint, small town balance of the rest of the homes on Crescent Road.

Regardless, he needed to return her dish. It’s been a month now, and he’s had yet to meet most of his neighbors. He seemed to cross paths with either Kate or Victoria every time he left his house oddly enough. The other Paperdolls he hasn’t seen since he moved in.

He lifts the gold knocker on the door and bangs twice...

No answer.

He notices a doorbell as well, then rings it twice...

Nothing.

He hears something. A clang from around the house...

_Maybe she’s out back…_

Stiles rounds the side of the house to the backyard. He spots [Lydia Whittemore](http://littlefrog1025.tumblr.com/post/130777503229), pruning her rose bushes.

He steps forward easily, not wanting to scare her, but stops when a tall [man](https://45.media.tumblr.com/39a5f29a85a640a57cf961726f9df24a/tumblr_mnvcglEsgl1rg0726o1_500.gif) in a suit, with dirty blonde hair, comes out of the house from the back door.

Lydia, in her floppy sun hat and gardening gloves that match the [tea dress](http://www.gemmacartwright.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/tarastarlet_dress.jpg) she’s wearing, looks up at him adoringly and smiles.

He helps her to her feet and says something that makes her giggle like a schoolgirl. He kisses her cheek and whispers something in her ear. His hands find the back of her dress and he unzips it, pulling it down with a yank, and exposing her bare breast to the world, midday and outside.

He stares at her breasts with an extraordinary dominance in his eyes and a cocky grin on his smug face.

He helps her back to the ground, lying her out on the grass. He unbuckles his pants—

_And that’s my cue to exit._

Stiles quietly hurries back to the front of the house. He sits Lydia’s casserole dish on her doorstep with a note on the back of the index card she left with the food:  _ **You must have been out. Sorry we missed each other. Thank you. The ziti was amazing. –Stiles Stilinski-Hale**_

»»»

“A men’s association? What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know. I assume it’s kind of like [Kiwanis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kiwanis),” Derek says.

“You sure it’s not a [stonemasons](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freemasonry) thing, or like, [Skull & Bones](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skull_and_Bones),” Stiles jokes.

“ _You’d_ be more interested in joining Skull  & Bones than me,” Derek says, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Yeah! To expose them for the sociopathic, overprivileged, scheming bags of puss they are!”

“I think people already know that about its members, baby,” Derek smiles.

“Well, maybe someone should say it with a megaphone…on live TV.”

Stiles pulls the [bread braid](http://www.eatwell101.com/braided-buns-recipe-braided-bread-recipe) he baked from the oven.

“Jesus. That looks amazing, Stiles. I didn’t know you could bake bread.”

Stiles gives a humble shrug at the compliment. “Kate gave me the recipe when I returned her pot.”

“Tell her ‘thanks’. It looks incredible.” Derek kisses his cheek.

“Do you really want to join a men’s club?”

“It’s a service club. They do really good charitable work. So, yeah, I think it’d be cool to be apart of that. It’ll help me get to know a lot of members of the community.”

“All the male members,” Stiles says, painting the loaf with butter.

“You’re welcomed to join. Chris said the both of us could,” Derek tells him, grabbing four bowls from the cabinet.

“I already think this town has somehow missed the last 60 years of progress and revolution. I don’t think joining a gentleman’s club could dissuade my prejudice.”

“Well, as long as you know its prejudice,” Derek says.

“Haha, Coach Hale.”

Derek squeezes Stiles’ ass as he passes by him to grab spoons from the drawer on the other side of the [stove](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13770978/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-kitchen-other-metro). “It’s not [White’s](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White%27s) or the [Yale Club](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yale_Club_of_New_York_City).”

“Sounds like it.” He grabs a ladle and hands it to Derek.

“It’s not. White’s and The Yale Club are old, rich white men sitting around smoking cigars and tuttering at newspapers.”

Stiles can’t help but chuckle.

“The Beacon Hills Men’s Association is something different entirely. The do good deeds and support those that do good, too. They raise money for worthy causes and help to improve the community. I see nothing wrong with being a link in a very strong chain.”

Derek really wants this. He wants Stiles to be okay with him wanting this.

Their lives have changed a lot since Derek left baseball. He thought his husband would wind up depressed and addicted to pain killers, but instead he was determined to find the next thing. To continue to be the man that persevered and didn’t let change turn into a setback, or despair. He doesn’t need Stiles’ approval, but Stiles knows he’d like it.

“…Well, it’s not like you playing baseball wasn’t a boy’s club…and you guys did a lot of charity stuff. That Breast Cancer Awareness gala was nice…”

“And we built 5 houses for [Habitat for Humanity](http://www.habitat.org/). Plus, you helped us every Christmas at the homeless shelters,” Derek adds.

“I can’t believe I dressed up like an elf for you guys.”

“You,” Derek cages him against the counter, “were the sexiest elf I’d ever seen.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, but his cheeks pink at the silly flattery. Derek kisses his neck.

“Fine. Join your stupid men’s club,” Stiles caves.

Derek bites down on his neck playfully. “Thank you.”

Stiles’ heart flutters, loving the big smile he put on his husband’s face.

Derek walks to the slim door that leads to the boys’ playroom. “Doodlebug! Porkchop! Chili!”

 

* * *

It’s Sunday. Derek’s off today and decides to spend the day with the boys so Stiles can go wander the town with his camera.

Stiles hasn’t gotten any real quality time with Derek since he started coaching, but his husband sure enough made up for last night. He fucked Stiles deep and hard on all fours, pulling his hair and spanking him until he came twice, screaming Derek’s name. This morning, Derek woke him up with a blow job, and jerked him off in the shower before cooking breakfast.

He and the boys were in the playroom finger painting when Stiles left them.

Stiles isn’t feeling particularly inspired by people and structure today, so he ventures out into the woods.

He takes a few shots, one of a woodpecker perched on a tree, another of a line of ants marching along a log, and a really nice one of the afternoon sun beaming through the tall trees.

The forest proves to be more awe-inspiring than the bustle of the busy town, but there wasn’t anything…magical within it. Nothing that makes him gasp and take notice with the desire to capture it.

There’ve been days like this before. He knows from experience what a slump feels like, or the lack of a muse. His best photography usually coordinates with whatever big thing is occurring in his life at the time. In the beginning, most of his pictures were of Derek; some sexy, private pictures, along with some really good, intimate black-and-whites he managed to sell to Esquire and Sports Illustrated.

Then the boys came along and his pictures centered on them, and other themes of innocence and wonder.

His favorite picture is of Theo when he was a year old. It’s a black-and-white photo of him; back turned to the lens, only wearing a diaper. His little, fat legs caked in mud as he walked along a dirt path. It’s eerie, dark, and Gothic. An innocent, pale baby, defenseless and without clothes; dirty, seemingly uncared for, walking along a makeshift path toward the scary, shadowy, ominous woods.

Stiles knows it was a bright, sunny day. The boys were outside playing in the dirt at a rented cabin, when Theo flopped in the mud. Stiles took off his clothes to give him a bath, but Theo ran off giggling at his near nakedness like he always does. A brilliant spark of “vision” captured Stiles, and he grabbed his camera.

Stiles knows the truth of the photo, but his camera, his art, betrays that knowledge and picks up exactly what Stiles saw.

That’s the type of knee-rattling creativity he’s been missing these few weeks.

“Ahoy there!”

Stiles stops in the middle of the open field he’s wandered into, looking around.

“Hey!”

He spots a figure, a woman, with long, blonde curls, waving excitedly to him.

He cautiously waves back.

“Hey,” she shouts again, then sprints toward him.

He takes notice of her wearing ripped jeans, a white, T-shirt, cut off at the midrift, and sandals. He’s been surrounded by the Paperdolls so often lately he’s forgotten that some women wear jeans and [gladiator sandals](https://www.nordstromrack.com/shop/product/867176/modern-rebel-goldy-sandal?color=Tan&cm_mmc=social-_-pinterest-_-client6181-_-camp2071&utm_source=social&utm_medium=camp2071&utm_campaign=Pinterest&sid=972522&MjA3MXw0ODQ5fDIwMjU4MzF8YWIwMzA) sometimes.

As she gets closer he also takes notice that her jeans are splattered with various colors of paint. And she isn’t wearing a bra.

“Hey,” she says, smiling, a bit out of breath.

“Um, hi,” Stiles says.

“I was out for a walk and saw you. You’re Stiles Hale, right?”

“Stilinski-Hale,” Stiles corrects.

“Sorry. It said ‘Hale’ in Beacon Hills Gazette. I’m [Erica](http://littlefrog1025.tumblr.com/post/120679841584).”

She offers her hand. Stiles takes it. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, but Allison didn’t really get it when I told her my last name is hyphenated when she called about corrections or details or whatever.”

“Yeah, the Barbies don’t listen so well when it comes to anything slightly outside their 1950s housewife bubble. I mean, how dare you keep your last name,” she laughs.

 _I think I’m in love._ “I think I love you,” he says.

She laughs again, wide and bright. She’s a pretty girl. Tall, too, about his height, with tawny, playful eyes.

“Careful. Don’t want the hubby getting jealous.”

“I actually like when he is,” Stiles winks at her.

“God! Isn’t angry sex the fucking best,” she recollects. “No pun intended.”

“Nothing like a good, hard ‘I own you’ fuck,” Stiles admits. “Oh, God! I’m sorry. I’ve know you for all of 5 seconds and I’m telling you details about my sex life. I just haven’t had a _real_ conversation with anyone since moving here.”

“Ugh! I know what you mean. It’s cool though. Sex is my favorite subject. Got an A on it high school.”

Stiles laughs. “Really now?”

“Yup. Lost my virginity at a shady motel off the freeway to my algebra teacher when I was sixteen,” she brags. “Felt bad afterward though. His wife was so nice to me when I babysat for them.”

“That can not be true.”

“Why not?”

“Because then you’d be my new best friend.”

“That sounds like fun! I’m in the market for a new bestie. Lost mine when I moved here a year ago. Cheaper housing and better schools for my daughter Sophia. In case you were wondering.”

“I was not, but thanks for sharing.”

“Thought I should offer up said information since I know all there is to know about you from Barbie No. 3’s tell-all article,” she mocks.

Stiles rolls his eyes. He read Allison’s article the following Sunday, and it was like Derek said, “a fluff piece,” but one made to tailor him as some sort of gay Laura Petrie.

Erica chuckles at his annoyance of her mentioning the article. “She put in this little blurb about you liking photography and I thought ‘that sounds kind of cool. Maybe he hasn’t drunk the Kool-Aid yet’.”

“I only mentioned it when she called. I’m surprised she kept it in there since it wasn’t about cooking and cleaning and Derek.”

“God. The women in this bass ackwards town…”

“So it’s not me? I’m not crazy?”

“Nope. They are.”

“Erica. You are officially my new best friend.”

She does a goofy curtsey that makes him grin.

“It is my honor,” she says.

»»»

“Wow. What is this,” Stiles asks.

“[Blood Orange Sangria](http://www.howsweeteats.com/2013/02/blood-orange-sangria/),” Erica answers. She flops down on the identical, yellow wicker chair beside him.

She lives on a farm at the edge of town and away from the shore. Her [house](http://www.houzz.com/projects/1149835/my-houzz-blue-stallion-farm) is a radiant mixture of colors that shock the senses when exposed to the unfamiliar eye. It reminds Stiles of the pictures he took when he visited Cuba in college.

The array of colors looks childish and unorganized amongst the eclectic furniture and odd knick knacks, but when searching deeper, the actual patience, the art in the interior design, is apparent.

Stiles isn’t all surprised when Erica tells him she’s a painter and teaches art classes at the community college in the next town.

He snaps a few shots of an object or two that catches his eye. There are plenty given almost every corner of her home is occupied with something interesting, be it a plant or stack of books of Chinese poetry.

They rest their bare feet on the large, vintage suitcase used as a coffee table on her [patio](http://www.houzz.com/photos/33586096/My-Houzz-Blue-Stallion-Farm-eclectic-porch-new-york).

“So, do you want to continue small talk, or do you want to gossip about the Barbies,” she says with a raised eyebrow.

“We should at least pretend to make small talk before we gossip, right?”

“Okay. Full name Erica Reyes. Never married. One child, Sophia, conceived from a one night stand I had at my cousin’s wedding with a guy I never met before. Luckily, he turned out to be sweet and very fatherly. We’re not together, never have been, but we’ve managed to co-parent Sophia nicely, despite the ultra-conservative, right-wing house Ryder— that’s his name— grew up in. Oh, and he’s an orthodontist.” She takes a big swig of her sangria, then slaps his knee. “You go.”

“Oh, uh, married for 8 years to my husband, former catcher for the San Francisco Giants, Derek Hale. We have two boys, twins, John—named after my father— and Theo, who’s named after Derek’s father. Both of whom have passed away. So has my mother, but I’m very close to Derek’s family: his mom, Talia, and his three sisters. I’m an only child, I can play the drums, bi not gay, and I’m terrified of blood.”

“Perfect! Gossip time. What do you know?”

“Me? I thought you had gossip!”

“I do! I just wanted to hear what you got first in case I missed something.”

“I don’t know any… Oh. Oh, wait. Okay. Swear—”

“I swear.”

“I wasn’t being a perv. Promise. I was just there trying to drop off a dish Lydia left with me.”

“Did the Barbies cook for you, too, when you moved here?”

“Yeah. The food was unbelievable, but anyway, I went over to Lydia Whittemore’s and knocked on the door. No one answered, but then I heard some noise coming from around back. I walk around the side of the house and see Lydia in her garden pruning her roses. I get ready to say something, but then her husband, or who I hope was her husband, comes out the back door,” Stiles remembers.

“He goes over to her and they’re kissing, but then he just unzips her dress and pulls it down. Her tits were out for the whole fucking world to see! I mean, I am not a prude by any means, and two consenting adults are permitted to do whatever the hell they want, especially on their own property, but the way he did it was…weird. Like he was proving he could. Like he was showing he could expose her anytime, anywhere if he wanted. I t was… It was this gross display of power. There was nothing sexy about it.”

“Did he look like an Abercrombie & Fitch model?”

“Yeah. Sort of. He looked…snobby. Like rich, frat boy snobby.”

“Ugh. That’s Jackson. Disgusting. He tried to fuck me when I first moved here at a Christmas party his wife invited me to, at their house no less.”

“Ew. What a sleaze.”

Erica nods. “He’s Kate and Peter’s eldest son.”

“What’s the deal with Kate anyway?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? She’s the queen bee. I figured out their little hierarchy. It goes: Kate, Victoria, Allison, Marin, Lydia, Malia, Jennifer, Kira, and Violet. None of them breathe unless Kate says so. She runs their little hive of bake sales and dinner parties. Isaac is also her son.”

“So Kate’s kids are Jackson, Isaac, and Malia?”

“Yup. Isaac’s a cutie. Too bad talking to him is like talking to Ward Clever though. I heard he used to be fun. Back when he and Scott were together.”

The ground sinks and disappears from under Stiles. “What?!”

“Oh, shit, yeah. You don’t know. Isaac and Scott were a couple. For years. Then out of nowhere Isaac apparently made some declaration to Scott about ‘not being gay anymore’ and ended their relationship.”

“Allison’s husband, Scott? That guy?!”

Erica nods. “Yeah. And those girls, ‘Allison’s daughters’ are really Scott and Isaac’s. They adopted them when they were together, but since they split, they have joint custody.”

“That’s insane! How can you have a family with someone, another man who you love and are sexually attracted to, then just out of the blue say you’re not gay and then go off to marry…”

“Kira. Isaac is married to Kira.”

“Yeah, her. But what about Scott,” Stiles asks. “He decided he’s not gay either, and marries Allison?”

“Well, I hear Scott isn’t gay, but more so…sexually fluid, you know? He loved Isaac though. Loved him, from what I was told, and was almost inconsolable when they broke up. I think he married Allison to get back at Isaac, but that’s apparently backfired. Which is why I think Scott has a drinking problem.”

“I met him once. He seemed fine.”

Stiles was out running that day. He passed by Scott and Allison’s house. Scott was out front hula hooping with his daughters. It was funny, and really sweet, so Stiles stopped his jog to introduce himself to his neighbor.

Scott was warm, friendly. He didn’t seem phony or threatening like his father-in-law Chris, or possessive like Marin’s husband, Decualion.

They talked for a bit over Scott’s fence about San Francisco. Scott called it his “second favorite city. After Seattle.” He asked about Stiles’ boys and Derek liking his job as a coach, and Stiles talked a little to Scott’s daughters. The eldest girl looked like a mix between Hispanic and white, like Scott, but the younger girl was all blonde curls and blue eyes.

When Scott’s youngest whined about being hungry, they said their ‘goodbyes’ and shook hands before Stiles parted on his jog and Scott chased after his daughters into the house.

Stiles wanted to hang out and talk to Scott again, but hadn’t seen him since, actively avoiding Allison after her horrible article about him in the newspaper.

“He is normally,” Erica continues about Scott’s alcoholism. “But if there’s alcohol around and Isaac’s in the room— look out. Allison’s had to come and pick him up from a bar a few times. I was there once. He kept shoving her away and telling ‘I don’t want you! I want him! I want him!’.”

“Wow. That’s… That’s horrible, and sad.”

“I know. But at least it gives the Barbies some real human depth. Lets me know they’re not as perfect and pristine as they think they are. They’ve got baggage and bullshit like the rest of us.”

Stiles knows it’s wicked, but he can’t help but agree, nodding along to Erica’s own prejudice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am WAAAAAAAY behind in replying to comments in my inbox, for ALL my works. I am so sorry, and will get to all over them by Sunday.


	4. Good Girls Get Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the supermarket ends unexpectedly, and Stiles is growing more and more weary of the on-goings in Beacon Hills...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize profusely for my long absence from this fic! I am sooo sorry. But you have my undivided attention from now until Valentine's Day. I promise! :)

* * *

Stiles and Erica are pushing their respective carts down the [produce aisle](http://www.groceryheadquarters.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/produce.jpg) of the grocery store. Erica’s daughter, [Sophia](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/2e/1c/5c/2e1c5ce5e4e536dda90eeae93abda253.jpg), is a little hyperactive. She’s been trying to climb atop a pyramid of oranges for 5 minutes now, and spent the previous 15 minutes wailing at Erica for strawberries until she put them in their cart.

Stiles was hoping his boys would become good friends with Sophia, but they seem weary of her and her misbehavior, sticking close to Stiles’ legs when she has a fit after Erica tells her to “get down from the oranges, sweetie.”

Nearly, the entire supermarket has stop to ogle Erica as she tries to wrangle her disobedient child who’s screaming until her face is as red as a beet with tears pouring from her big, blue eyes.

A few of the onlookers are the Paperdolls, or “Barbies:” Kate, Victoria, and Marin.

Stiles isn’t about to question or judge someone else’s parenting techniques, but Erica’s soft, hippie, New Age approach to handling her daughter has been for naught all day. He figures it’s why the 4 year old is so insolent to begin with.

“Sophie, please. This is not appropriate behavior for public,” Erica pleads, feeling the hard, judge-y eyes around her tsk and shake their heads at the scene. Sophia throws an orange at her mother’s chest.

Even Theo manages a frown and exasperated sigh at watching Erica and her daughter. He lifts his little head to peer up at Stiles with an eye roll.

Stiles fights with everything in him not to laugh. Theo is an old soul. One of those precocious kids that are more adult than most adults. And sometimes it catches him off guard and makes him laugh. But now is definitely not the time.

Stiles can see the horrified look on Kate’s face from across the bin of mangos.

She abandons her cart and circles around the display of 99 cent/lb. lemons toward them.

_Shit._

Stiles sidles up to Erica with a put-on smile at Sophia. “Hey, princess. How about we climb down off the orange tower for a bit. If you do, we’ll eat strawberries on the way home,” he bribes.

“Could I be of some help?”

They turn to Kate standing behind them in all her red, polka dot glory. Her lipstick matches her [dress](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d3/84/b8/d384b8b6a161721c27db156072083397.jpg) of course, painted perfectly on her pouty mouth, before a big, bright smile that almost looks…phony.

“Oh, uh, no. Thank you,” Stiles says. “Erica’s got it.”

But Kate ignores him, pushing through him and Erica politely and approaching Sophia. She gasps, hamming it up for the little girl. “You’re such a big girl climbing all the way up there. You’re not a princess; you’re a warrior, aren’t you?”

Sophia sniffles, climbing down a bit.

“I bet you could slay the mightiest dragon, couldn’t you? You could scale all the way up a tower and save the prince. You don’t get rescued. You do the rescuing. That’s why you’re all the way up here.”

Sophia nods.

“I think that’s real brave of you, and I like brave girls. But you know what else I like?”

“What,” Sophia asks, voice a little sore from all the crying.

“I like nice, young ladies, too.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and doesn’t give a damn if Kate sees him do it.

“Being brave and fearless is fun, but so is being a sweet, good little girl for mommy when we’re at the store. Because good girls get treats.”

Kate hands Sophia a peppermint candy from her purse and the small child’s face lights up like Christmas.

Kate holds her arms out to Sophia and she practically jumps into her waiting hold. Kate brings her gently to her feet. She pulls a butterscotch candy from her purse and hands it to Sophia. “Brave girls get candy, too. But nice girls get the better ones.”

Sophia nods, like all the worlds understanding has just been bestowed upon her and she is now wise…which makes Stiles glance at Erica, who is seething so badly he can hear her teeth grind.

“All is well,” Kate smiles, then clacks her heels back toward her cart. She, Victoria, and Marin file in a line and push off toward the bakery section.

»»»

“Who in the name of Christ does that fish-mouthed bitch think she is,” Erica snaps the moment they’re out of the store.

Stiles figured Erica might want to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, but he still had some shopping to do, and needed to grab something for dinner tonight. But Erica is his friend and she was livid, so he did what any friend would do: snatched up his kids and left with her.

“She just sashshayed her ass over like she was fucking Supergirl and basically parented my kid in front of me!”

Stiles gets why Erica’s angry, and can understand her jealousy, but even he has to admit that Sophia was out of control and was in no mood to listen to her mother or him. Kate being her nosy self did kind of save the day… Despite how much he hated her methods.

He bribed Sophia, too, at first, but he didn’t push gender stereotypes and misogyny onto her childish psyche the way Kate did. Granted, Erica’s ultra-liberal, permissive approach wasn’t great, but neither was the way Kate handled it either.

“I mean, fuck! I had it under control! I’m sick of people always looking at me like I’m a bad parent, or telling me to discipline Sophia more!”

She’s on a rant. A profane one that’s getting almost the same amount of looks they were getting inside the store with Sophia’s own tirade. And it appears this isn’t the first time Erica’s had a few heads shake at her and make her feel inadequate as a mother.

Stiles remembers her telling him that Sophia’s father was a nice man, a good man, but grew up in a very conservative, strict home. He figures they’ve had a few talks about Sophia and her behavior as well. And it’s probably the real reason behind his outburst happening before him now.

“I know, but let’s just get the kids home. Get a snack into them and we’ll trash talk Mrs. Kate Whittemore over a bottle wine and a bag of potato chips.”

Erica takes a deep breath and groans loudly, like a growl, eyes closed and head tilted skyward toward the warm, afternoon sun. She takes another deep breath. “Fine.”

They make their way through the parking lot toward Stiles’ car.

A [white Prius](http://www.moibbk.com/images/toyota-prius-white-4.jpg) and a [green Mini Cooper](http://cdn2-b.examiner.com/sites/default/files/styles/image_content_width/hash/6d/b3/6db33556979e89ad19f109db20e796b4.jpg?itok=yNF2IsVI) back out of their spaces at the same time. They collide, bumper to bumper, and Stiles jumps back grabbing his kids with him at the crash!

“Oh, my God,” Erica shouts.

The driver in the Mini Cooper tumbles out of the car with a bloody gash on his forehead. Onlookers rush to his aid.

“Stay with the kids. Call an ambulance.” Stiles hops over the smashed cars to the Prius. The driver side door opens and [Kira](https://media.giphy.com/media/foKkiOUygdZ72/giphy.gif), Isaac’s wife, stumbles from the car.

“You shouldn’t move. An ambulance is on the way,” Stiles tells her.

“Oh, that’s so silly,” she smiles through a dazed expression. “I’m perfectly fine.”

She’s not. She’s wobbling a bit on her feet. Stiles gently sits her back into the car.

“Are you hurt? Bleeding anywhere? Where’s your phone so I can call your husband?”

“Oh, that’s silly. I’m perfectly fine.”

“He still needs to know what happened and that you’re alright.” He reaches over her and grabs her purse from the console. He rummages through it, looking for her cellphone.

“Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine,” she says again.

“You might have a concussion. Isaac, right?” Stiles thumbs through her contacts, finding Isaac’s name.

“Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine,” she repeats.

The phone is ringing against Stiles’ ear. She’s…smiling. A big, wide smile as she looks past Stiles’ shoulder. At…nothing.

“Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine,” she says once more. But it sounds less hazed than it first did. It sounds forced. Mechanical. Like a machine stuck on repeat. “Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine,” Kira says again, with that far-off smile like she’s auditioning for a Colgate commercial.

The other end of the line clicks and a friendly voice answers, “Hi, honey. How’s your day so far?”

“Oh, uh, this-this is Stiles Stilinski-Hale—”

“Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine.”

“—uh, yeah, um, I have your wife, Kira’s, cellphone. She got into an accident at the supermarket and—”

“Where’s my mother?” The voice suddenly stern and serious, takes Stiles aback.

“Oh, uh, your mother—”

“Kate Whittemore. Is she there?”

“She was—is, I think. She was in the store before I came out with—”

_“I can take over from here, Mr. Hale.”_

Stiles looks up to see Kate looming over him with her trademark smile. She takes the phone from his ear and brings it to her own. “Isaac, sweetheart. It’s mommy. I’m here with Kira... She’s fine, my darling. Just a little shaken up.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open.

Kate puts the phone up to Kira’s mouth— “Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine.”

“See, sweetheart. She’s okay. We’re just going to take a little trip to the hospital to make sure,” Kate says into the phone. “Okay… Of course I will… Mommy loves you, too, Isaac. Have a good day, darling.” Kate hangs up as two ambulances wheel toward them, sirens blazing. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Hale.”

“Stilinski-Hale,” Stiles corrects, a little weirded-out by what just happened. “Look, I don’t think Kira’s all too well.”

“Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Kira seems to think she’s doing alright. But we’ll get her looked at just in case. Does that satisfy you, Mr. Hale?”

“Stilinski-Hale. And, um, yeah. I guess. I just hope she doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Kira is a strong girl. She’ll be aces. Thank you for your concern.”

There’s a smile on her face, but her cheery tone is tight and a little tiring. Stiles knows a brush-off when he hears one.

He watches as Kate helps Kira up and walks her toward an ambulance. EMTs from the other ambulance rush to the other driver while Kate and Kira climb aboard the stationed ambulance and close the doors.

Erica calls out to Stiles, kids in tow, behind Kira’s Prius. “Is everything alright?”

“…I…I don’t know. The whole thing was weird,” he answers.

They watch Kira’s ambulance barrel from the parking lot and toward Main Street.

“What the hell,” Erica whispers.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… They took a left. The hospital is the other way.”

Stiles watches as the emergency vehicle continues east on Main; curious, and a little terrified, why they were apparently going the wrong way…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Next update will be longer :)


	5. Unbecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men's association stops by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter would be longer, too...? Fooled by my own outline it seems. LOL

* * *

Stiles has no idea why he agreed to this.

Well, that’s a lie. He knew exactly why. Derek had begged and Stiles caved after an incredible blowjob that left him in tears and too drowsy afterward to make a sincere decision.

But alas, here he is, slaving away in his beautiful kitchen making platters upon platters of [deviled eggs](http://www.thecomfortofcooking.com/2014/04/bacon-jalapeno-deviled-eggs.html), [cucumber bites](http://www.allyou.com/food/celebrations/easy-finger-foods/red-pepper-hummus-cucumber-cups), [shrimp cocktail](http://www.rachaelraymag.com/recipes/shrimp-cocktail-shots), [caprese kabobs](http://college.biggirlssmallkitchen.com/2012/05/eat-for-under-10-caprese-salad-skewers.html), [strawberry bruschetta](http://freshmommyblog.com/eats-strawberry-bruschetta/), [guacamole](http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/perfect_guacamole/), [pigs in a blanket](http://inquiringchef.com/2015/10/21/pretzel-wrapped-pigs-in-a-blanket/), [buffalo wings](http://earthydelightsblog.com/yuzu-pao-hot-wings/), [fruit salad](http://www.cookingclassy.com/2014/06/honey-lime-rainbow-fruit-salad/), [cheese and olives](http://www.popsugar.com/food/Easy-Goat-Cheese-Appetizer-Recipe-18489107), [tuna tartare](http://www.tinyurbankitchen.com/tuna-tartare/), and [bacon-wrapped scallops](https://www.americastestkitchen.com/recipes/7118-grilled-bacon-wrapped-scallops). All for Derek…and his men’s association.

It’s his own fault though. Derek never asked him to play host, just that he be okay with them hanging around the house, talking about…whatever the hell it is they normally talk about in their little club. Yet, Stiles let his nosiness get the best of him and asked if he could sit in on their meeting (it is after all taking place in his home).

Derek said he’d ask first, given Stiles isn’t a member, but fear of being told ‘no’ made Stiles pipe up and volunteer to play June Cleaver to Derek’s new buddies.

And of course no one took issue with that.

However, if Stiles is being truly honest with himself, he’d admit that deep down he actually doesn’t mind. He loves being “the hostess with the most-ess.” He loves gaggles of people enjoying his cooking and complimenting him on his “lovely home” and “sweet boys.” He likes his house filled with cheerful noise and friendly faces. He likes matchmaking between friends, loud, wine-infused arguments about politics and religion, and feeling tipsy enough to sneak off with Derek for a bit.

He hosted a few parties when Derek still played baseball. Some drunken and wild, some black tie and tame, and a few designed to get the rich to pry open their pockets for a good cause.

The holidays, Christmas and New Years, however, is always at [Hale House](http://www.houzz.com/projects/831126/european-granduer/ls=1) in Napa Valley, but Stiles gets to hold Thanksgiving every year at he and Derek’s place. Stiles and Talia, Derek’s mother, openly (and playfully) compete for best party every year, drawing playful eye rolls from their invited family and friends.

_Talia always throws the best parties_ , he remembers, missing her warm smile and wise words of wisdom.

“Stiles, baby.”

Stiles snaps out of it to find Derek by his side, smiling at him.

“You slipped off to Neverland, Peter Pan.”

“Just for a little bit. You know I always come back, Wendy.” Stiles tilts his head and their lips meet in a soft kiss.

“You alright in here?”

“Yeah. Just plating these stupid cucumber bites,” Stiles grimaces.

“You need help?”

“No. I’m done actually.”

“Good. Because everyone’s been asking about you.”

_Oh, goody._

Stiles grabs the last platter as Derek snatches up a bottle of [Glenfiddich](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glenfiddich) from the cabinet.

There’s 8 of them.

Derek first points to a tall, handsome man with crystal blue eyes and short graying hair. [Chris](http://31.media.tumblr.com/80c78a3a7d464f7916dccca5484c5a3e/tumblr_n1a30e1fuj1qdhtyho7_500.gif). Victoria’s husband.

Then a tall, handsome, blonde-haired man with a chiseled face— [Deucalion](http://24.media.tumblr.com/acb3b5563a656acd5b9ce193c9b9188b/tumblr_mnvfnbrHxK1qkksz8o1_500.gif), or “Duke,” Marin’s husband. Then there’s Jackson, who he remembers from his backyard tryst with Lydia.

[Dr. Deaton](https://media.giphy.com/media/Y5cJiltY5UoMM/giphy.gif) is a quiet, reserved-looking black man, that is also Violet’s uncle; who is married to the blonde-haired boy wonder that is [Garrett](http://poisonparadise.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/gif-tw7.gif).

Beside Garrett is a curly-haired boy with a charming smile and adorable face. [Isaac](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/9d/c8/29/9dc82921b7eca910c3606ab462d6d98e.gif). Kira’s husband, who politely thanks him for “looking after Kira until my mother arrived.”

Shooting daggers with his eyes across the room at Isaac is [Scott](http://reallylatereviews.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/tumblr_nswnw3ltB11uwdlu5o3_500.gif), who Derek introduces next.

“We’ve met,” Stiles smiles.

Scott gives him a taut smile back before downing the rest of his beer in on swallow. He’s already tipsy, and Stiles is instantly reminded of Erica’s gossip about Scott and how intoxicated he gets when he’s forced to share space with Isaac.

Stiles sighs mentally. Hoping to not have to scrub blood from his nice carpet floors later in the night. Thankfully, Scott lives just next door. So if he does decide to drink his pain away he can easily get home.

He’s so curious though as to how Scott and Isaac could have ended their relationship and live as they currently do. He wants to know why Isaac suddenly dumped Scott and feels he can turn his sexuality on and off like a light switch. He wants to know why if Scott is so heartbroken and feels so betrayed, why does he stick around. Why doesn’t he leave Beacon Hills. He has custody of the girls he and Isaac raised, so why hang around to glare at the bane of your existence day in and day out? And why marry Allison as retaliation?

“And this is [Peter](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/c1/de/ee/c1deeef2952697b4ce0b766f46885f11.gif) Whittemore. He’s the head of the association,” Derek says.

Peter, light eyes, stubble, and slick, sexy smile, stands proudly and offers his hand to Stiles. “Hello, Stiles. It’s nice to meet you. Derek talks favorably about you all the time.”

“All things I pay him to say,” Stiles jokes, taking Peter’s hand.

Peter smiles. “He said you were funny.”

“Funnier than him, but not really all that funny.”

“Haha,” Derek mocks, then pecks Stiles' cheek.

“Well, I happen to enjoy your humor and welcome it.”

“Thank you.”

“No. Thank you. For letting us invade your gorgeous home and feeding us cavemen,” Peter charms.

“Not a problem,” Stiles lies like a pro.

“Please. Sit with us. We were just discussing plans to rebuild the children’s wing of Beacon Hills General, and then possibly talk about our yearly camping trip to Montana.”

_Riveting._ But Stiles takes a seat beside Derek nevertheless.

»»»

Stiles is so goddamn bored.

He wanted to sit in on this little clubhouse meeting of Alpha males because he thought he’d be privy to something interesting. Or sinister. But as it turns out its all talk about fundraising, Peter’s work as a software designer, Jackson’s collection of classic muscle cars, Garrett’s Krav Maga class, Chris’ new guitar, and that stupid camping trip they all take every year to Montana.

They only time Stiles feels like jumping into the conversation is when they switch to talk baseball, and when Deaton brings up _Game of Thrones_.

But the conversation derails quickly to who has the best tits on the show and Stiles mentally checks out before giving Derek a dull look.

_Really, Derek? These assholes?_

Derek shrugs.

Stiles sighs and takes note of Isaac, sitting quietly with a sketch pad in his lap, occasionally glancing up at Stiles and squiggling something onto the paper with his pencil.

_He can’t be drawing a picture of me. Can he…?_

Stiles squirms in his seat under Isaac’s occasional glance, feeling very under-the-microscope at the moment. He readies to say something, feeling a bit too bothered when Scott meanders over to him and plops down beside him.

He smells like a goddamn brewery, and insists on talk up-close-and-personal in Stiles’ face.

“So, you were there when our little Kira had a fender bender yesterday, huh,” he asks, slurring his words and spilling his beer on Stiles’ carpet. “Well, that makes you a hero. Wouldn’t want anything terrible to happen to sweet, little Kira,” he says with a hard bite to his tone.

Stiles remembers Erica telling him how dumped Scott for Kira. And Scott’s whole drunken display feels less embarrassing and more heartbreaking than anything. Must be hard standing in a room with the man you once loved, and for him to act like it never happened.

“Scott. Why don’t you come with me into the kitchen and we’ll get you some coffee,” Stiles says, trying to tamper down what could be a nightmare in seconds.

“No. No. No. I don’t want any coffee. I’m good. Do you got anymore whiskey though? That-That’s what Peter’s drinking, right? He only drinks the good stuff. Nothing but the best for Peter Whittemore,” Scott shouts, raising his beer bottle at Peter in a mock toast. “Especially when it comes to his children. His precious, little children.”

The room draws quiet. All eyes on Scott.

_Fuck._

“Is everything okay, Scott,” Peter asks with an amused smile.

“Everything is fine, Peter,” Scott sneers with an intense glare. “Just chatting with my new best friend Stiles. Everything alright with you? How’s the wife?”

“Kate is her usual, wonderful self,” Peter replies, refusing Scott’s baiting. “How’s Allison?”

“Peachy.”

“And the girls?”

“Oh, they’re fine, dad,” Isaac answers with a sweet smile.

“YOU DON’T GET TO TALK ABOUT THEM, YOU ASSHOLE,” Scott yells, breaking from his seat.

Isaac looks stunned, completely affronted.

“You don’t get to talk about…m-my girls, Isaac… They’re mine. Not yours,” Scott’s voice breaks as he fights back tears. “Mine.”

Isaac looks confused, like he doesn’t understand what Scott’s saying. As though the utter emotion rolling off Scott is something he can’t quite decipher, like binary code.

“…But they’re my girls, too, Scott…”

“They were.” Scott wipes a fallen tear from his face. “You don’t get to be their father whenever you want. Whenever you and Kira feel like playing house.”

“Okay. I think it’s about time we call Allison,” Chris says.

“No. I’m not a child who needs his ‘mommy’,” he snipes at Isaac.

And it’s the first time Stiles has seen anything other than a smile on Isaac’s face. Isaac’s jaw sets and eyes narrow at his former boyfriend. The pencil in his hand snaps between his fingers and the room burns with tension and anger.

“We don’t have to call Allison. Scott can hang here for a bit. I’m his new best friend, remember? Besides, he lives next door. I’ll take him home when he’s ready,” Stiles says, breaking the heavy silence. He pats Scott’s shoulder.

Scott and Isaac glare at one another like wolves in a standoff for a beat longer, before Scott relaxes under Stiles’ hand and looks at him, features schooled, soft, with a thankful smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m going to chill here with my friend Stiles,” he says.

“That might be a good idea,” Peter says. “And I think we’ve taken up far too much of Derek’s time and space for the night. Let’s call this meeting adjourned.”

Isaac is still burning a hole through Scott with his eyes. Scott ignores him and takes a long pull from his beer, emptying it, then belching loud and obnoxious, shooting Isaac a smug grin at his own rudeness.

“I apologize for the dramatics, Derek. Your home is too lovely and you’re too hospitable to have it all ruined by childish antics from some,” Peter says, shaking Derek’s hand.

Stiles quirks an eyebrow. It’s his home, too. And he’s been just as, if not more, than hospitable than Derek. Derek didn’t cook all that crap. He did.

“Does Stiles need a hand with the clean up,” Peter asks. “I can have Malia come over and assist him.”

“Uh, no. We got it,” Stiles cuts in. Because he wants this all to be over, and _what the hell? You ask if help is needed and offer your daughter up, like a late night cleaning lady?_

“Of course,” Peter smiles, all slick and easy. “Goodnight, Scott,” Peter says, turning toward him. He leans into Scott’s ear. Scott backs away a bit at the closeness of Peter to his face, but Peter whispers something through gritted teeth and tight lips that seems to make Scott’s mouth purse.

Peter turns back to Stiles. “Once again, I’m sorry for how the night ended, but thank you for the lovely atmosphere. I’ll be sure to tell Kate you were every bit as charming as she said you were.”

Stiles shakes his hand with a stiff smile. There’s just something creepy, and eerie about Peter that makes his skin cold and arm hair stand on end…

Derek leads Peter and the rest of the group to the front door.

Except Isaac.

Isaac stands. He rips off the sheet of paper he was doodling on from his sketchpad and hands it to Stiles; eyes never leaving Scott’s. “Drawing’s my hobby. You have an interesting nose,” he says.

Stiles takes a look at the sketch. Isaac is beyond talented. To say the least. He managed to capture every detail of Stiles’ face, right down to his moles, and long eyelashes.

“Wow. I mean… Holy shit, Isaac. Thank you.”

Scott’s attention turns to the drawing, too. He looks…sad. As though he’s staring at something loved, then lost. Something wonderful that’s now gone, and it’s such a shame that it is.

“Goodnight, Scott,” and there’s something a little heartbroken in the way he says it before heading to the front door.

Stiles looks over at Scott. Tears are in his eyes again.

“I… I’m a little tired.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’ll show you to the guest room,” Stiles offers.

“Thanks.”

Scott follows Stiles to the [stairs](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13774082/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-staircase-other-metro). Derek comes in from outside. He and Stiles’ eyes meet and he frowns with an eye roll in Scott’s directions.

Stiles frowns back with a look: _Don’t be a dick, babe._

Derek reads between the lines of Stiles’ scowl and gives a resigned sigh before heading back into the [living room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13771358/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-living-room-other-metro) as Stiles takes Scott upstairs.

 

* * *

They’re upstairs in the [attic/game room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13774387/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-family-room-other-metro) watching _Jurassic Park_ with their kids, eating handfuls of popcorn when the security app on Stiles’ cellphone alerts him that someone is at the front door.

Stiles initially didn’t find the app necessary until he’d missed the UPS guy three times in a week when he couldn’t hear the doorbell while he was in the boys’ playroom, or on the third floor.

There’s no camera. Just a motion senor that lets him know someone is out front and has rung the bell. _What I could really use is an intercom app, too_ , he thinks.

“Erica,” Scott asks.

“No. I don’t think so. She said she was busy this weekend; went to go visit her mother in Seattle. Sophia’s father has her until Sunday night.”

Scott left early in the morning, catching Derek’s side eye even after he apologized for being a drunken mess. He headed back to his place then called Stiles a couple hours later and asked if he’d be interested in a playdate with his boys and Scott’s daughters, Natalie and Isabella.

Scott’s daughters were a year or so older than his boys, but Theo has the maturity of a 70 year old man at times, and John is a born sweetheart who can get along with a log. And Stiles liked Scott. He was a bit of a mess, but he understood why, even if Scott didn’t want to say much on the whole thing.

Stiles felt for him. True empathy, because who knows what mess he’d become if Derek ever treated him the way Isaac treats Scott.

They came over after Derek left for work and took advantage of the nice weather and the pool. Afterward, Stiles made them popcorn and put in _Jurassic Park_ when Scott mentioned he’d never shown it to his girls before.

Stiles likes Erica. A lot. She’s fun and foul-mouthed and brazen. And Sophia’s a doll…when she wants to be, but John and Theo seem to have hit it right off the bat with Scott’s girls, and they’re all having a good time, so Stiles knows he’ll probably be setting up more playdates between them in the future. And less with Erica’s daughter.

Stiles heads downstairs and opens the [front door](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13765560/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-entry-other-metro).

Kira. Holding a pie dish.

“Hello, Stiles.”

“Hi, Kira.”

“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”

“No. I was just watching a movie. Want to come in?”

“Oh, no thank you,” she smiles bashfully. “I just wanted to give you this. It’s a [peach pie](http://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/georgia-peach-pie).”

She hands it over.

“Oh, well, I’m actually just really glad you’re okay. You really didn’t have to do this. I mean—”

“Why, of course I did. I acted so foolishly the other day at the supermarket.”

_Uh…What the fuck?_

“I’m sorry, Kira. What?”

“I was so embarrassing with my little head bump, getting so confused and upset.”

“Kira,” he says seriously. “You got into a car accident. You got hurt— could have been hurt worse— and you were confused and disoriented. You do not need to apologize to me for that. You don’t have to apologize to anyone for that. Certainly not with pie.”

“Oh, yes, I do, Stiles. I was being so silly about the whole thing and worried Isaac and you. I overreacted and caused a stir, which is very unbecoming.”

“’Unbecoming’?”

“Quite. I’m so sorry, Stiles, and I do hope you accept my apology.”

Stiles is so over the weirdness of all this. He steps over the threshold to her. “Kira. Where did they take you the other day? They went the wrong way for the hospital,” he whispers.

She tilts her head at him, like a kitten staring out the window fondly looking at birds. “I’m all better now, Stiles. That’s all that matters.” She’ smiling brightly, but there’s something tense, and finite, in her tone, telling him to back off.

Stiles has never been more terrified.

“I hope you enjoy the pie.”

She turns in a twirl, flipping her hair, and walks off toward her house just up the street.

“Oh, my God…”

Scott breezes by him with his girls in tow.

“Scott! Wait! Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Kira left,” he motions to the brunette bopping out of the driveway.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s… It’s nothing. The girls need a nap and I-I have stuff to do. We’ll reschedule. Promise.”

Stiles grabs his arm before he can run off. He notices Scott clutching his cellphone in his hand. Someone must have called, or text him. Someone said something to him that spooked him. “This town is really fucking weird, Scott.”

Scott’s eyes shift around nervously. “…I know.”

He breaks free of Stiles’ hold and rush off with his daughters going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys figured out yet that I'm a bit of a foodie? And like throwing dinner parties? LOL


	6. Mayberry It's Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to Peter and Kate's annual summer cocktail party...and it goes from bad to worse.

* * *

“What in the name of fuck are we doing here, Stiles,” Erica asks.

“Well, I know why I’m here: Derek dragged me to this thing. Why are _you_ here,” Stiles teases.

A cater waiter walks by with a tray of delicious appetizers. Erica snatches one right off as he continues weaving through the party.

“Well, clearly I’m here for the [lobster puffs](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/emeril-lagasse/lobster-mousse-puff-pastry-bouchees-recipe.html),” she says, popping one into her mouth whole.

“Clearly,” he smiles.

“I think all of Beacon Hills is here. Jesus.”

“And why not? ‘It’s the party of the year’. The Peter & Kate summer bash,” Stiles says in mock excitement.

“Oh, God. Who said that?”

“Allison.”

“She’s such a cheerleader for her aunt and creepy uncle it’s ridiculous,” Erica rolls her eyes.

“Aren’t they all?”

“Ugh. I wish Jordan was here,” she groans.

“Thanks.”

“Shut it, Stilinski-Hale. You know I love your company. It’s just Jordan’s such a boy-next-door charmer, so it’s funny to watch him cringe under it all at these things,” she explains.

Stiles shakes his head. “Haven’t met him yet.”

“Seriously? He’s like the only other normal person in Beacon Hills aside from us. And he hates ‘The Barbies’. He lives on this really nice ranch at the county line that he inherited after his parents died. We should go visit him tomorrow.”

Stiles shrugs. “I’m game if he’s normal.”

“Completely.”

Stiles nods, taking a sip from his bottle of beer as [Jennifer](http://24.media.tumblr.com/375990e7e06275ca71d0c0dca8ebcfe7/tumblr_mqswtrBh961rd57m2o1_500.gif) approaches with a dark-haired woman. “Hello, Erica. Stiles,” she says.

Erica gives a curt nod then lets her eyes scan the crowd for the lobster puff waiter.

“Hi, Jennifer. How are you,” Stiles continues with the small talk.

“I’m well. You?”

“Good.”

“And your sons? How are they?”

“They’re good, too. I enrolled them in that kiddie gym class you were telling me about. They love it. Gets them out of the house and surrounds them with other kids.”

“That’s wonderful!”

The dark-haired woman clears her throat and Jennifer’s eyes widen.

“Oh, no! Goodness me! Where are my manners,” she giggles. “Stiles, this is my wife, [Kali](http://25.media.tumblr.com/7b0ff630a4c1b7bccd0b8bb176831e00/tumblr_mo877gTkzy1r2uy8qo3_250.gif). Kali, dear, this is our new neighbor, Stiles, and you already know Erica.”

“Yes, I know Erica,” Kali says with sultry eyes that look Erica up and down.

Erica rolls her eyes and shivers at Kali’s blatant eye-fucking.

“Stiles, I do not though. Derek’s husband, right? Good to finally place the face,” she says, shaking Stiles’ hand.

“Am I being talked about,” Stiles asks with a nervous smile.

“Not badly,” Kali reassures him. “Peter’s mentioned how funny you are, and how hospitable you were to his stupid men’s club. Kate said your house was gorgeous.”

“Oh, it is Kali,” Jennifer exclaims. “The kitchen and the pool are so lovely.”

“This one’s been hinting at remodeling our kitchen for months now,” Kali says, thumbing at Jennifer.

Jennifer blushes like a schoolgirl busted.

“Wives,” Kali says playful as she sips her [martini](http://liquor.com/recipes/dirty-martini/#gs.rSA4jl0). “Derek probably gets what I mean.”

_Dear God it’s her, too. Ugh…_

“No, actually,” Erica pipes up. “Stiles told me Derek’s the one that has the eye for décor. Which is refreshing, you know,” she says with a smug grin.

Stiles hides a snicker on the lip of his beer bottle.

“I mean, it’s rather sexy; a man that has…less ‘masculine’ hobbies.” Erica raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Kali.

“Well, if that’s the case, then maybe a woman with the same leisurely pursuits would pique your interest,” Kali flirts.

“Maybe. But I like sucking cock way too much to give it up,” Erica counters with a wide smile.

Kali chokes on her drink while Jennifer looks utterly scandalized. And Stiles… Stiles is turning beet red, trying to hold in the fit of laughter inflating his cheeks and burning behind his eyes.

Kali gives Erica a snide look. “Excuse us,” then grabs Jennifer by the elbow and hurries away from them.

Stiles lets it out, the loud boisterous laugh he desperately wanted to bark in Kali’s affronted face. “Oh, my God. Oh, God. What in the hell was that? I think I’m going to pee my pants.”

“You know, Jackson hit on me once but got the message when I told him ‘no’ and that I’d rip his balls off if he ever grabbed my ass again,” Erica growls. “But that bitch, Kali… Every time she sees me. She cornered me in the ladies room at the [coffeeshop](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/a5/b7/67/a5b76797176e1ca65065808a43763307.jpg) in town once. I practically had to shove her across the room to get out of there.”

Stiles is no longer laughing. “Are you kidding?”

Erica shakes her head. “Nope. She’s pretty fucking aggressive, and I’m sick of it. Hopefully my profession to blow jobs just now scares her off once and for all.”

“How does Jennifer not see her hit on you like that?”

“Pfft. The level of denial amongst these chicks is unreal. I mean, how can Allison still be so ‘happily married’ to Scott, knowing he’s still in love with Isaac?”

“You think Scott’s still in love with Isaac,” Stiles asks.

“Definitely. You don’t?”

“I don’t know. I just see that he’s hurt,” Stiles answers honestly.

Scott’s actually there, at the cocktail party, too, but he’s spent the whole time right at Allison’s side, smiling and laughing with Peter and the rest of the men’s association.

Stiles tried to pull him aside earlier, talk to him, or at least hang out a bit with him and Erica together, but Scott seemed to be avoiding him; sticking close to his wife and always in Peter’s line of sight, like he was reassuring Peter that he’s there, and on his best behavior.

And he has been. Sticking to only club soda since he arrived, and keeping his distance from Isaac. Their girls are running around with the other kids there, but Scott makes sure to only talk to them when Isaac isn’t.

Scott’s a good guy from what Stiles can see, and this whole thing is just too peculiar to comprehend. He wants to talk to him, compare notes on how weird the people in this town are, because Scott knows something.

He and Erica can only gossip and speculate and poke fun at it all, but Scott’s aware of something hidden behind the wide smiles and beyond the manicured, green lawns of the townspeople here. And whatever it is scares him.

Scares, Stiles, too.

“That’s pretty evident,” Erica agrees. “But he seems to be in better spirits today. I don’t even think he’s drinking.”

“He’s not.”

“Guess that whole incident at your place must have opened his eyes or something. He’s seen the light.”

“Maybe,” Stiles replies vaguely. He doesn’t want to get into any details about Scott and the blow up at his house a few weeks ago. Its one thing to whisper about the little odd things around them, but Stiles didn’t exactly want to mock a man’s heartache and alcoholism. “I don’t get these guy, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“They have these beautiful, doting wives, and yet they still try to fool around on them.”

“Some people are never satisfied. And some people have way too much ego. Just goes to show you that no matter how perfect you are, you’re not above being toyed with by assholes. I mean, look at Halle Berry. She’s a fucking knockout and her ex cheated on her like it was full-time job.”

“I don’t mean just looks. I mean… Aren’t these women everything a man, or someone with an Alpha personality, would want? Why screw around when you got it so good?”

Erica shrugs. “Like I said: some people, like Kali, and Jackson, are assholes.”

“Or maybe behind closed doors, things aren’t so perfect.”

“That, too,” Erica agrees, sipping her [cocktail](http://www.tasteslovely.com/rosemary-greyhound-cocktail/).

“Hello, Stiles. Erica.”

Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin at the sweet voice sneaking up on them. Erica snickers.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just wondering if I could freshen your drink,” [Malia](http://33.media.tumblr.com/c21d22055dccb1a9526004986825ffcc/tumblr_ns07v88e0y1rhqc7zo3_500.gif) says to him.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to. I can ask a waiter for another,” he tells her.

“I don’t mind. I’d love an opportunity to show you how hospitable I can be.”

“I have very little doubt as to your hospitality. You and your mother are good hostesses. Thank you.”

She looks a little disappointed for a flash of a moment, before her smile brightens at him again. “What a sweet compliment. Thank you, Stiles,” she says, gently touching his arm. Her thumb rubs along the hairy limb in a soft circle before sliding down to his wrist, and gently off his fingertips.

_What the fuck?_

“Just let me know if you need anything, Stiles,” she says, sultry with kitten eyes. She then waves across the [lawn](http://www.houzz.com/photos/11934596/Lake-Geneva-Basswood-traditional-exterior-other-metro) to someone and skips off toward them.

“Her, too,” Erica snaps. “She knows you’re married and that was 100% a come on. That’s what’s wrong with this town— it’s full of swingers!”

“I… I can’t even remember the last time I was hit on by a woman. That was weird as hell. And fucking inappropriate.” He’s admittedly a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. With everything. Maybe Erica’s right and they all are a bunch of swingers. Maybe everybody in the neighborhood bed hops with each other.

Stiles is all for sexual freedom and exploration, but he’s a happily married man, in a committed, monogamous relationship with his husband. He’s in no way, shape, or form into having that open to interpretation. There’s no asterisk on his marriage license. And even if there were, the last people he’d sleep with are the oddballs of this town.

Stiles’ eyes scan the party looking for Derek amongst the sea of floral print dresses and men in [summer suits](https://www.google.com/search?q=summer+suits&espv=2&biw=1440&bih=775&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjBxYD744XKAhUCKGMKHdW3CIMQ_AUIBygC#tbm=isch&q=summer+suits+mens).

He finds him, on the [back patio](http://www.houzz.com/photos/11257310/Lake-Geneva-Basswood-traditional-patio-other-metro), talking to Kate and Victoria.

“I need to get out of here, Erica. This place is freaking me out now.”

“Oh, no. You are not leaving me here with these perverts.”

“Well, then grab the kids and come with me. I’ll get Derek.”

She nods and heads off in search of her daughter, Theo and John.

Stiles makes it about 4 feet toward the [house](http://www.houzz.com/projects/105470/lake-geneva-basswood) when Kira steps in front of him.

“Hi, Stiles.”

“Hi, Kira,” he says dully, trying to sidestep her.

She steps in front of him. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” he sighs, realizing he’s going to have to make small talk with her. She seems determined to talk with him, and he doesn’t want to raise any red flags in front of 100 people, so he plants himself still, looking at her sunny, sweet face beam at him.

“Did you enjoy the pie?”

He threw it out the moment he closed his door after Scott ran out. Something about it felt tainted and foul. He didn’t want to eat it. Didn’t want Derek or the boys to eat it either. So he tossed it.

“It was delicious. Thank you. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m…”

She suddenly looks off into the distance of the lake. Her body still, stiff. Like a statue. She doesn’t even look as though she’s breathing…

“K-Kira? Kira. Kira?” He lightly touches her shoulder and she comes back to Earth with a wide smile at him. “Okay? Lost you there for a minute,” he chuckles nervously.

“Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine.”

_Oh. Shit._

“Kira?”

“Oh, that’s so silly. I’m perfectly fine.”

He gently grabs hold of her shoulders looking deep into her eyes. “Kira?”

She looks at him, tilting her head with that eerie smile. “Oh, Stiles! How are you today?”

“I-I’m good. Are you? Are you okay, Kira?”

“Did you enjoy the pie?”

“Fuck… Kira, let’s go find Isaac, okay?”

“Isaac is my husband.”

“Y-Yes. I know.”

“He takes good care of me. A girl needs a man to take care of her. A good girl who doesn’t cause accidents at the supermarket. I was a bad girl, but now I’m good again. What I did was very unbecoming.”

“Did Isaac say that to you?”

“Isaac is my husband,” she repeats with the same plastic grin.

“He takes care of you,” Stiles plays along.

“Oh, yes. He does. Because I’m a good girl…”

Her face gradually sours into a deep frown as she scowls at the grass beneath their feet.

She grips his shoulders in a tight squeeze as he continues to hold onto her.

“Kira, maybe we should sit you down somewhere.”

“I’m not a good girl anymore,” she says lowly. She looks at him finally, eyes wet with tears. “I was. I used to be, but I’m not anymore. I was bad. At the supermarket.”

“No. No, you weren’t, Kira.”

“I was, Stiles. I was. I’m not a good wife. I should be a good wife,” she says with tears falling from her eyes.

“Kira… Is Isaac…hurting you? Is someone hurting you?”

“Isaac is my husband,” she says for a third time. But is full of sorrow and missing the big, proud smile it had a moment ago. “He… I’m not good for him.”

“You are. You’re perfect.”

He doesn’t believe in perfection, but right now she needs to.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know…”

“Okay. That’s it. I’m finding Erica and we’re taking you to the—”

It happens so fast. So quickly, Stiles barely has time to think.

One minute he’s about to tell her he’s taking her to the hospital, and the next she’s breaking the champagne flute in her hand, shattering the glass in her naked palm and using the broken stem to drag across her throat!

Blood cascades down her sliced neck with a spray of it spurting across Stiles’ shaken face!

He manages to grip tight to her before she hits the ground. His eyes dart over her limp body, bloody throat, and sagging face; the light in her eyes fading as she gurgles.

He wheezes trying to find the words lodged in the back of his mouth. He’s seconds away from a panic attack.

Screaming! Bloodcurdling screaming draws his attention— a woman in an ugly yellow dress with matching hat. She’s staring at them; mouth open and screeching over the smooth jazz piano playing over the buzz of conversations being had.

He’s going to vomit. He’s going to throw up. He feels it in the pit of his stomach, rising up through his body, to mouth.

His lips part, ready to retch, and—

“HELP!!! SOMEBODY HELP,” cries out of him like a howl.

 

* * *

“They’re only letting family see her. I tried to see her at the hospital, but Kate said she didn’t want visitors,” Stiles tells her.

“I sent flowers,” Erica says.

“Me, too.”

Erica makes a left, turning onto a long, uphill road.

It’s been 4 days since the party with Kira.

He remembers Peter rushing over with Jackson and Chris, snatching Kira from Stiles’ vice-like grasp. Isaac was beside himself, screaming and crying as Kate held him close. Someone called 911, and paramedics arrived just in time to save her life Stiles was told later.

Derek drove him home with the boys, Erica, and her daughter, Sophia. Luckily the kids managed to miss the whole thing, being on the other side of lawn at the time, too far away to witness all the commotion.

Stiles was nearly catatonic the rest of the night.

They took Erica and Sophia home first. He and Erica couldn’t even look at one another as she climbed out of the car and walked into her colorful house.

What could they have said after something like that?

When they got home Derek took off Stiles’ bloodstained clothes. Bathed him. Dressed him in clean pajamas, and tucked him into bed, all before getting the boys ready for their own sleep.

Stiles woke up though; sweating and screaming in the middle of the night, with Derek holding him close and shushing him softly until his panic attack was over.

Stiles said not a word for nearly two days, hiding in bed under the blankets. Because how else do you react to a woman slitting her own throat in front of you?

_“It was like she hadn’t even thought twice about it, Derek? She just grabbed the glass and… I froze.”_

_“Hey, now. Enough of that. Okay? You did nothing wrong and she’s going to live. It’s going to take a lot of recovery, a lot of therapy, but Kira will be fine, and you did the most helpful thing you could have done: you stayed with her.”_

_“I want to visit her.”_

_“I think Peter said something about it just being family right now, but yeah. Yeah, we’ll go see her when we can.”_

Stiles and Derek tried, but Peter and Kate halted any attempt from visitors getting past the nurse’s station at the hospital. They thanked them for the flowers and told Stiles and Derek that Kira was doing better but she had a ways to go.

Stiles didn’t want to go back home. He was feeling restless, nervous, and full of a weird buzzing energy. Like he needed to run a marathon to shake off the irritating vibrations under his fingertips.

_“I’m going to call Erica. I feel… I just…” Biting his thumb on his shaky hand, pacing along the strip of concrete in front of the hospital entrance. “I’m going to call Erica. Can you stay with the boys for a couple of hours?”_

_“I have to go to work, Stiles.”_

_Stiles isn’t listening. He’s already dialing Erica’s number. “I can’t right now. I can’t talk about an attempted suicide in front of them.”_

_“Okay. I know you’re still reeling from all this, I get that, but this is no longer our business, Stiles. We have two children—”_

_“And suddenly I’ve forgotten them? I’m a horrible father now because a woman cut her goddamn throat open in front of me and I need a couple hours to regroup about it and not slip into a panic attack?”_

_“That’s not what I said. Don’t twist my words around to make me feel like a dramatic asshole.”_

_Erica picks up her phone. “Hello?”_

_“I’m at the hospital. Please come pick me up.”_

_“Okay.”_

_He hangs up._

_“So you’re just going to ignore me? I just told you I have to go to work, Stiles! And the boys—”_

_“And the boys are at the[McCalls’ house](http://www.houzz.com/projects/395529/whitewashed-lake-cabin) right now. I sure Allison won’t mind babysitting them a little bit longer. I can’t with this, Derek. I just…fucking can’t.”_

“And you just walked away?”

“I couldn’t breathe, Erica. Kira fucking… She slit her neck in front of me. Her blood sprayed on my face. In my mouth. Just… How is someone that unhappy?”

“Behind closed doors, things aren’t so perfect, remember?”

“There is something wrong and fucked up going on here. And it isn’t swingers. People getting laid don’t drag broken glass over their throats at a party.”

“This really is driving you bonkers, isn’t it?”

“I feel it, Erica. On every street corner, with every sweet smile someone gives me... Something. Is. Wrong. Don’t you feel it?”

“I feel like Beacon Hills is strange, yeah, but… I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been here too long, or gotten good at just poking fun at the strange undercurrent of it.”

Stiles takes a deep breath; his skin feeling itchy and hot. The air here is thick and heavy. Stiles can feel something looming, hovering through it and watching. The last thing he wants to do is become paranoid. He’s already suspicious and anxious, but paranoia just makes you the crazy person no one believes.

“Well, nothing’s funny anymore.”

“I’ll say,” Erica agrees. She turns down the long dirt road to a gorgeous [farmhouse ranch](http://www.houzz.com/projects/843104/athens-ranch).

“Jesus,” Stiles whispers, staring out the window at the property. There are horses, about 6 of them, grazing on a flattering piece of fenced in green grass.

“Told you his place was badass.”

Erica parks before the house. The front door opens as they climb out of the [car](http://images.car.bauercdn.com/upload/33529/images/03_fiat_500_2015.jpg) and a good-looking man, about the same age as Derek, exits the house with a warm smile.

“Hey, bud,” Erica beams.

“Hey, you. I didn’t know you were coming by,” the man smiles back. They hug.

“That’s why it’s called a surprise visit. Jordan, this is my friend, Stiles. Stiles, this is Jordan.”

They shake hands.

“Pleasure,” Stiles says.

“Stiles? Stiles Stilinski-Hale. Derek Hale’s husband?”

“Yup.”

“Wow. Awesome. I’m a big baseball fan. Sad day when your husband retired.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Nice that you two decided to move to Beacon Hills. This town could use some normal people,” Jordan says in a flippant tone.

“We were just talking about that,” Erica tells him.

“We’re always talking about that,” Stiles corrects.

Jordan scoffs. “How can you not? Come in. I’ve got cold beers and I made chili.”

»»»

Jordan’s place is amazing. It’s massive and well-decorated. His father apparently built the place from the ground up, but his mother was the one that designed everything. They’re long gone now. Jordan’s father had a heart attack, and his mother died three days later of a broken heart, Jordan told Stiles.

Sad story, but Stiles couldn’t help but to find something a little beautiful in it. And he suspects Jordan does, too. There’s something adorably romantic about him. Stiles wagers if he asked the deputy what his favorite movie is, he’d say something like, _Endless Love_ , or _The English Patient_.

Jordan tosses their empties and pulls three more beers from the fridge. “Kira was always a fragile, waif of a thing. Or looked it rather. But inside she was strong. She wasn’t aware of her own strength, but other people saw it, recognized it. Never thought she’d try to kill herself though. Can’t believe you had to see that sweet girl do that.”

“Couldn’t sleep for days. I know I didn’t know her well, but I’m blown away with how unhappy she must have been to do something like that, and so drastically. In front of everyone…”

“Kira’s always been a happy girl. As long as I’ve known her. She’s smart as a whip, too,” Jordan says, capping his beer. “She went to CalTech.”

Stiles is nothing if not floored by that piece of information. And judging by the wide-eyed look on Erica’s face, she is as well.

“I’ve lived in this town since I was a thirteen. It was never the Mayberry it is now, but it was nice. Normal. The people here have changed. Jennifer Blake was the first friend I made here. I used to beard for her in high school because of her really religious parents,” he chuckles. “Then she went away to college in Boston, and came back, thumbing her nose at her family and their ‘traditional values’. She turned into this loud-mouth, vegan, environmentally-conscious, feminist that now had a degree in neuroscience.”

Stiles’ jaw is on the floor. The bright-eyed brunette married to Kali sounds nothing like the woman Jordan is describing.

“Before I became a deputy, she and her poetry club would have their weekly meetings here and we’d smoke pot and get into these hyper, post-feminism debates,” he laughs, recalling the memories. “Jenny was always the loudest. And the funniest.”

“Are you kidding me,” Stiles says.

Jordan shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Fuck. I’d love to hang out in that circle.”

“Me, too,” Erica agrees.

“She met Kali only 4 years ago. They got married after only knowing each other for two weeks. They had one of those fireworks romances; started out with this burning sizzle and exploded with all these brilliant colors, lighting up the sky and making you gasp while you looked at it. But then the light started to fade and burn out, until it was gone and everything was black. Kali was too controlling, and verbally abusive. Jenny was handing her divorce papers 2 years ago, but the next thing I knew she withdrew them and started wearing pearls and high heels everyday.”

“Holy shit,” Erica remarks.

“She was different then. Kira was different. So was Lydia…” He gets a far-off look on his face that melts into a hard scowl.

“What was Lydia like,” Stiles asks tentatively.

Jordan snaps to, and a soft smile gradually grows on his lips. “Stubborn. Independent. Opinionated, and driven… She was brilliant, too. She was the youngest professor at Stanford before she quit. She taught physics, and it was…amazing watching her school those know-it-all kids, and see them cower at her glare,” Jordan chuckles.

“…You were in love with her.” Stiles doesn’t mean to say it aloud, but it’s so obvious and so there and so sweet, actually. Jordan loved her. And there’s something sad in his face about it. Like the way Scott looked when he stared at the picture Isaac drew of him. Like he’s still in love, and it’s so unfair that he is.

“We weren’t anything. Nothing official, but we were kind of working up to something. Lydia tried to act like she’s had ii all together, and that she doesn’t need anyone, but I saw how worried and insecure she could be. We just…connected.”

Jordan turns to the stove, his back to Stiles and Erica, as he stirs the chili boiling in the pot.

“What happened,” Stiles asks, because he can not.

“…She married Jackson. Out of nowhere. They weren’t even dating. She just up and married him one day out of the blue. They knew each other in high school, but weren’t in the same social circles. Jackson was captain of the football team back then and Lydia was a mathlete.”

Jordan turns the burner off and grabs three bowls and three spoons from the cabinet. He snatches a soup ladle off the rack of cooking utensils over the stove, and dunks it into the chili.

“When’d they get married,” Stiles asks.

“Two, maybe two and a half, years ago,” Jordan shrugs, trying to look like he no longer cares. He slides a bowl of [chili](http://damndelicious.net/2014/03/15/one-pot-chili-mac-cheese/) to Stiles across the [island](http://www.houzz.com/photos/21660649/Athens-Ranch-farmhouse-kitchen-austin) he’s standing behind.

It honestly looks delicious.

But Stiles’ mind is wandering, caught on something… _Two years ago. That’s about the same time Jennifer was ready to divorce Kali…_ “Hey, when did Kira and Isaac get together,” he asks.

“Two…” And the same light bulb in Stiles’ head, clicks on in Jordan’s.

“What,” Erica asks of their stunted faces.

Stiles and Jordan’s eyes meet, capturing the same thought.

“Okay, something fucked up is definitely going on in this town,” Stiles says.

Jordan nods.

»»»

Derek walks in through the front door and immediately he’s bombarded with Stiles’ noisy footfalls through house, rushing toward him.

His hair is sticking up at all ends, like he was running his hands through it a million times, and he’s wearing his eyeglasses. He must have been on his laptop for a while. As so evident by the printed sheets of paper in his hand.

“Derek! Oh, my God, you will not believe the weird shit I found out today.”

“Stiles, I’m tired and don’t want to stay up all night gossiping with you like a teenage girl, all right.” He’s still a little ticked off at their fight this afternoon, and Stiles storming off to fucking who knows where with Erica.

“It’s not gossip. It’s about the Paperdolls—”

“Stop calling them that. They’re nice people. Nice women who’ve been nothing but kind to us since we moved in. And Kira’s in the hospital.”

“Did you know Kira went to CalTech,” Stiles asks, ignoring Derek’s chastising and foul mood. “Yeah. She majored in chemistry. She’s a fucking chemist. And here, look at this,” he says, leafing through sheets of printed webpages. “Kate is a goddamn bioengineer! She went to fucking UPenn, Derek!”

“Why should I give a shit about any of this, Stiles?”

“Because it means these women have brains, Derek! Victoria was an actual brain surgeon. Marin was a psychologist. Allison was a marine, if you can believe that. Violet, Dr. Deaton’s niece, graduated Harvard 2 years ago with a degree in biology. And Malia— I found YouTube clips of her…cage fighting, Derek. She was a fucking MMA fighter. For real.”

“Again, why do I care? I just walked in the door and the only thing I want is a shower, my dinner, and some time with the boys before they go to bed.”

“Derek, listen, these women, they were a fucking force of nature. They were serious, smart women who could own the world, and then suddenly, two years ago, they all gave up their careers to be housewives.”

Derek shrugs, so over this conversation.

“Well, isn’t that strange? You don’t find that odd? They were intelligent, powerful women—”

“And they aren’t now just because they want to stay home and look after their children and take care of their husbands,” Derek snaps. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Stiles. There’s nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mom. We were both raised by stay-at-home moms.”

“I know that. I’m just saying—”

“God, can you stop being so goddamn judgmental and looking down on these women for a minute?! All they did was make a choice, and who the hell are you, or Erica, or anyone else to tell them the choice they made was wrong, backwards? They may not share your values, Stiles, but they do have them.”

“I know,” he says lowly, taken aback by Derek’s tone. “I just thought it might give insight to what happened with Kira. She’s…miserable, Derek, and maybe giving up her career is why.”

“Or maybe it’s a deeper problem and none of your business. Or maybe that’s just how you’ve felt since the boys were born.” Derek walks past him toward the stairs.

“I’m sorry.”

Derek stops on the third step.

He is sorry. Honestly. He can’t stand when Derek’s mad at him. “I’m sorry about today,” Stiles continues. “I’m freaked out and don’t know how to handle all this. What Kira did was… I’ve never seen anything like that, Derek, and it’s haunting me.”

Derek’s shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh. Stiles wishes he’d turn around and look at him…

“I feel like you’re trying to find reasons to be miserable here, Stiles. To hate it. To be mad at me for something. And that this thing with Kira is an excuse for you to be.”

“How can you say that, Derek?”

Derek shoots him a glance over his shoulder. “Is it not true?”

“No!”

Derek turns around completely. “Then what is all this, Stiles,” he nods to the papers in Stiles’ hand.

“Me trying to understand, or empathize, with these women. Trying to…connect with them. It’s me trying to figure out why everything feels so weird here. Don’t you see the bizarre things going on here? Don’t you feel it?”

“No, Stiles. I’m not exactly looking for it either.”

“Fine then. I admit it. I am looking for reasons. I am turning over every stone and peeping in every window, so to speak. Because this is our home now, and I want nothing more than to be happy and safe here. I want our boys to be happy and safe here. So if a woman cuts her throat open with a broken shard of glass in front of me at a cocktail party, then yes, I want to know why. And I want to know why her family is hiding her, and why her friends are behaving like all she did was burn the toast at breakfast instead of attempt suicide.”

Derek shakes his head and scoffs. “Fine, Stiles. Go ahead. Dig in the matters of others. Hurt these people and their feelings. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Stiles scowls at Derek’s back as his eyes follow his husband disappearing up the stairs.


	7. Tread Lightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles calls for a meeting.

* * *

They enter the house through the [back](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13770932/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-kitchen-other-metro). The boys immediately run toward the small door that leads to their playroom—

“Boys. Upstairs first and take off those clothes. Put them on the bed and change into your play clothes please,” Stiles tell them.

Theo sighs dramatically, but heads upstairs with his brother to do as asked and climb out of his tiny suit and clip-on tie.

Stiles takes a seat at the island, watching Derek make two cups of tea.

He silently sits one in front of Stiles.

“Thanks.”

Derek nods.

They’ve barely spoken to one another aside from a few short sentences throughout the day since their fight. And their tense silence has only gotten worse today.

Stiles can’t do this anymore. It hurts. The both of them. He knows Derek hates them fighting almost more than he does.

“The wake was nice,” he says. _Start small._

Derek nods, dunking his tea bag into his cup. “Peter and Kate threw her a nice service.”

Stiles still hadn’t the chance to see Kira before he and Derek were suddenly invited to attend her funeral. Stiles’ legs gave as he stared at the glossy, paper invite. He slumped to the floor, fisting tightening around the paper, as he shook in the middle of the open doorway until John screamed for Derek.

“Isaac looked so lost…”

“…I know.” Derek tosses his tea bag in the trash. “Wasn’t expecting Scott to be as upset as he was.”

“Yeah. That was unexpected. But I get it.”

“What do you mean,” Derek asks.

“Well, he’s probably spent a lot of time hating Kira, wishing she was dead….and now that she is… I get how he could feel like shit. Like it’s somehow his fault.”

“It’s not.”

“We know that, but he might not. He loves Isaac, but I don’t think he ever wanted him to hurt like this.”

“I don’t either.” Derek sips his tea, staring out the windows behind Stiles.

“…Derek. I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Derek pins Stiles with a hard stare for a long beat. He sets his mug down on the counter. “Come here.”

Stiles rounds the island. Derek pulls him close, resting their foreheads together. “I’m sorry,” he whispers to Stiles.

“Me, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They kiss; a chaste, timid kiss. Their lips haven’t brushed together in what’s felt like weeks over the last 4 days. Stiles parts his mouth and Derek slides his tongue inside, turning the kiss hungry. Stiles’ hands pull at Derek’s hair.

Little running footsteps echo through the house and they quickly pull apart, out of breath, as John and Theo rush into the kitchen and then down the steps to their playroom, paying their fathers very little mind.

“Take me upstairs.”

Derek grabs Stiles’ hand and rushes out of the kitchen.

»»»

Derek hands Stiles a couple of tissues from the box atop the nightstand. Stiles wipes off the cooling cum Derek ejaculated all over his stomach and tosses the soiled tissues onto the floor.

He’s hot and sweaty but it doesn’t stop him from curling himself around his husband who’s just as hot and sticky.

Derek takes Stiles’ hand into his own and kisses his fingertips.

“A support group.”

“What,” Derek asks.

“I want to start a support group for the women in this town. Especially Kate and her friends. I think they need someone to talk to, or to talk to each other. This whole thing with Kira… They should lean on one another to get through it.” Stiles twists in the bedsheets, turning to face Derek. “Is that okay? Is that a good idea?”

Derek runs his fingers gently along Stiles’ throat. “I think it’s sweet, baby. But are you sure you should be doing this? Or that it’s what these women need?”

“I’m not trying to be their shrink. I just want to open up a dialogue and get them talking about their feelings. Sharing helps. You know that.”

Stiles spent some time after his mother’s death in therapy, and then a grief sharing group. Admittedly, it had helped a lot. Derek was in therapy, too, as a teen. He had survivor’s guilt about the car accident that claimed the life of his father and his other sister, Valerie. Derek was in the backseat and miraculously made it out alive.

Derek softly rubs the back of his hand against Stiles’ cheek. “Tread lightly, and been free of judgment. These women have lost and friend and a sister.”

“I know,” Stiles says. He turns over Derek’s hand and kisses the center of his palm.

 

* * *

“A support group? Really,” Erica asks as they stroll through the [park](http://www.landscape-photo.net/albums/userpics/10001/106/Green_Park_-12.jpg).

“Yes…and no. That’s how I sold it to Derek anyway.”

“Lying to the hubby now are we,” Erica quirks her eyebrow upward.

“I don’t want to! You should have seen how pissed he was when I tried to explain to him all the shit I dug up! I have to do it this way, Erica. I need to know what the hell is going on here.”

Erica stops walking. “Jesus. You really do give a shit, don’t you? You’re not just being nosy.”

“No.”

“You should’ve been a detective like your dad instead of a photographer.”

Stiles chuckles. “That’s what he used to say, too.”

“Okay,” she nods. “If you want to get to the bottom of all this shit, so do I.”

“Really?”

“Hell yeah! This is my town, too. Besides, what the hell else am I doing?”

Stiles laughs.

 

* * *

Erica passes around the tray of [Swedish meatballs](http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/food-network-kitchens/swedish-meatballs-recipe.html) Stiles made while Stiles tries to offer glasses of white wine to the Paperdolls, who politely object.

Stiles sits the tray off to the side and grabs a beer, taking a big swig from the glass bottle. “Okay,” he starts, and the women stop chattering. “First, thank you ladies ever so much for coming. I know it’s probably still very raw and unsettling for you to be here while one of your own, Kira, has only been gone for a week.”

They draw silent with saddened faces and glossy eyes at her name.

“So it means a lot to me and Erica that you’re here. Especially given that we’d like to talk to you about what exactly happened with Kira.”

“What ever do you mean, Stiles,” Kate asks. Her voice is all sugary and sweet, but there’s something under it… Something tart and bitter, as though he has no right to any of this. And truth be told, he doesn’t.

“Uh, well…it seems for Kira, to do what she did, she must have been…very…unhappy,” Stiles treads as lightly as he can.

“Kira was not. She was cheerful and pleasant,” Lydia defends.

“I know! I know,” Stiles defends. “I just… You ladies can not deny that she hurt herself on purpose, and for someone to do that… I think all of us here need to talk about it. I’d like for this to be a healing process.”

_And an interrogation._

Erica catches his eye and raises a brow at him. She knows he’s full of shit.

They exchange nervous glance between one another for a beat.

“…Well, I see no reason we couldn’t turn this sad circle into a happy smile,” Victoria says. She beams at Stiles.

He smiles back.

“Well, if Victoria wants to help, as do I,” Kate smiles at her friend. And at Kate’s approval, the rest of the women fall in line.

“Great. That’s just great. Look,” Stiles sits in an armchair, “this is not going to be an easy rode. It’s going to start rough, and we’re going to have to dig deep inside ourselves and answer some really difficult questions about who we are, and what we want.”

Erica snorts. Stiles immediately kicks her foot and glares.

“I totally agree,” she rights.

“Now, I’m not familiar with the methods that would require us to forge ahead on this journey together—”

“You’re laying it on too thick,” Erica murmurs around the lip of her glass.

Stiles clears his throat, heeding her warning. “You know, uh, since I’m such a novice within this area, why don’t we allow a professional to take the reins. Marin.”

“Yes, Stiles,” Marin asks.

“Uh, well, you-you used to be a psychiatrist, perhaps we can use some of your expertise.”

Marin laughs hardheartedly. “Oh, Stiles. That was ages ago.”

Stiles’ face turns stone cold and serious. He hates when people back him into a corner, looking like an idiot. It makes for him dismissing all niceties and going for the jugular. “Actually it was two years. You had your own practice and then sold it when you and Deucalion got married. You won a bunch of awards and wrote two successful books. What happened?”

“Slow down, chief. You’re going too fast,” Erica warns.

He is. And if he doesn’t tamper down the in-your-face questions they’ll get nowhere with the answers.

“My! What questions, Stiles,” Marin giggles at being the center of attention.

“Okay, look,” Stiles starts. _Screw pretense._

“Stiles,” Erica snaps in a whisper, but Stiles ignores her completely.

“Kira was an unhappy, miserable woman just before she died. Something happened to make her feel that way. Something made the bright light within her fade out until it was gone. She was a lovely, kind woman who took her own life in a horrible way. Don’t any of you care why?”

“Well, of course we do, Stiles,” Allison responds. “For the sake of her troubled soul and Isaac’s broken heart.”

“Okay. See? There. That,” he points to the brunette. “Aren’t you angry about the circumstances that might have been the reason for her to feel as lowly as she did? Kira was a freaking biochemist. She worked at BHU doing cancer research. I found articles online that said she was headed to Switzerland to work for the World Health Organization. She was happy and vibrant and loved her work. Now, why would she give all that up?”

“For her husband, Isaac, silly,” Allison says with a smile, as though Stiles should have already known that.

“Okay. But what if she missed it? What if she missed all the other things that made her complete? That made her feel good? What if she felt lost and confused about being just a wife and a mother to Isaac’s sons,” Stiles asks.

“How could she have possibly felt that way,” Violet asks.

“Because being a wife and mother are not the only things that can make a woman feel whole. Some do feel satisfied with it, and some need more. What Stiles is asking is if maybe something was missing from Kira’s life,” Erica adds.

“Like what,” Lydia asks.

“I don’t know… Excitement. Fun. Adventure. Fear. Anxiety. Bliss. Good sex,” Erica answers.

Malia giggles like a school girl and Kate swats her hand like a child to stop.

“Well, I can’t see how being a wife and mother isn’t all those things,” Victoria chimes in.

“It is. Trust me, being a parent is all those things, but sometimes…sometimes you want…more,” Stiles tries to explain. “Some people need more than that to define them, and to know who they are. Maybe Kira did. I mean, God knows I need other things in my life other than Derek and the boys to keep me sane.”

“Like what,” Kate asks, intrigued. She leans back with a slight tilt to her head, as though she wants to make sure she’s got his answer logged.

“Um, well, I need friends,” he smiles at Erica. She winks at him. “I need my photography, baseball, coffee, curly fries, Star Wars, and a really good book every now and again.”

Stiles’ eyes peer at the Paperdolls, anticipating either clueless stares or hypercritical scowls.

Yet, they’re…staring at him. Heads tilted and faces thoughtful. They’re listening and invested in what he has to say.

He came here to bombard them with questions; to be nosy and investigative into their affairs. But they’re real women. Real people. And a close friend of theirs has just died horrifically, yet they’re here for what Stiles sold as a “healing process,” as therapeutic and a path to rediscovery. But he’s only wanted to use them.

He’s a piece of shit.

These women are listening to him, intrigued by his desires, and maybe finally understanding that he’s more than Mr. Derek Hale.

“I love my husband and my children. I would do anything on this Earth to protect them and keep them safe. They are my world. But sometimes I need something else, too. And that’s okay. Its okay to want what else is out there and offered to you. You can have both. I can make dinner every night and still grab my camera and take pictures. Even if Derek doesn’t take it seriously.”

“Derek doesn’t like the pictures you take,” Violet asks, confused.

“No. He does. He loves them. He’s my biggest fan, but he wants to be my only fan. I know, without him ever saying it, that he would rather my photography be a hobby instead of me trying to make it a profession. He’s not an old-fashioned guy, but he does have some traditional views when it comes to family dynamics. I knew that when I married him. And I agreed to stay at home with the boys when we decided to go for it and have children.”

He doesn’t know why he’s saying all this, just that it’s good to get it all out.

“I mean, he couldn’t, you know? He was a professional baseball player. And I was fine that. I was proud of him. Of us, and the family we were building.”

Stiles will never regret his decision to be at home with the boys. Then or now.

“I wish though, that he recognized how much I sacrificed doing it, and be more supportive of me finally getting around to making something serious happen with my work. But he doesn’t. Because that’s not the type of husband he wants me to be. And that hurts. A lot.”

Erica leans over and kisses his cheek. He notices then that it’s wet from a fallen tear. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

“Thanks, Erica,” he forces a smile. He hadn’t meant to turn this into a confessional, but he owes them something for being so sneaky and callous. Even if they don’t know it.

“Are you two getting a divorce,” Lydia asks, looking ever so scandalized.

“No. No. I love that asshole way too much to ever leave him. I’m just…venting. It’s good to do that sometimes about the people we love. Keeping it all in rots you from the inside out,” he tells them.

The room draws silent for far too long. Stiles and Erica shoot one another nervous glances.

“Why don’t we do that,” Erica pipes up after a moment, voice high and cheery. “Why don’t we make this a ‘book club’,” Erica says with air quotes. “We meet once a week and talk about all the things driving us mad so we don’t actually go mad, and you tell your husbands you’re in a book club.”

“That’s a good idea,” Stiles adds, feeling genuinely excited about it. “It’s definitely something that could help us all, and is no doubt what Kira probably needed. We can do it in her honor.”

He means it this time. No bullshit. No ulterior motives.

“But what if I have nothing to…vent about? What if everything is good,” Allison asks innocently.

“Really? Isn’t your husband still in love with— Ow!” Stiles pinches Erica before she can finish that sentence.

_Talk about me coming on too strong…_

Erica rubs her thigh with a pout in Stiles’ direction. He has so sympathy.

“Come anyway. Your presence is enough,” Stiles tells Allison. “All of you. You simply being here is support.”

Erica downs the rest of her glass of white wine in a single swallow. “Let’s do it. Let’s do it now. Let’s each confess something, judgment free, and show one another how strong we can be for each other and ourselves. I’ll go first.” She takes a deep breath.

A few deep breaths…

Her eyes begin to water, on the verge of tears. “Sophia… Sophia’s dad… He’s, uh, he’s much better at raising her than me. He’s a better parent. I let her do whatever she wants and I don’t say ‘no’ because I’m afraid she’ll hate me. Like I hate my own mom. My mom was strict and had so many rules. I felt stifled growing up, and, uh… I don’t want Sophia to feel caged by me. But it’s backfired, and she runs all over me. I’m not respected by a 4 year old and it’s embarrassing.”

Stiles takes her hand into his and squeezes it. He kisses her cheek as she did for him.

“She’s not an adult. She’s not ruined,” Stiles says. “You still have time to fix things,” he assures her.

“I know. I’m just…scared,” Erica says. She pulls her hand away from his and stands, crossing the room to the tray of full wine glasses Stiles set aside. She grabs one and takes a big gulp.

“Okay. So, um, that was Erica’s confession. Does anyone else want to go,” Stiles asks.

The Paperdolls look far too nervous.

“Lydia. Why don’t you go,” Stiles offers. He doesn’t mean to pick on anyone, but he needs to get the ball rolling on all this, and Erica can’t be the last to go. Not after the state of emotion she’s currently in and the odd sense of anxiety that plagues him after what he revealed.

“Me,” the redhead responds.

Stiles nods encouragingly.

“Well, let’s see…” Her dark green eyes turn up toward the ceiling thinking…

Jordan bragged about her being a genius, but also mentioned how insecure and doubting she could be under all her bravado. Stiles wanted to see that side of her; a loose, more casual, side that made mistakes and had fears like everybody else.

Out of all the Paperdolls she’s the one that always seems so much more focused and driven in her pursuit of housewife glory. She sits up the straightest out of all of them, hair always prim and proper, never a strand out of place, makeup flawless, and dressed to kill, even in a full skirt. She’s more poised and put together than Kate.

It’s scary.

“…Perhaps…the other day…” Lydia’s eyes shift guiltily. “I may have…” She places a delicate hand over her chest catching her breath. “I may have…overcooked Jackson’s steak because I was preoccupied with watching a very spirited episode of Antiques Roadshow.”

“What…the fuck,” Erica groans.

“I know! I feel so bad. Jackson didn’t even notice, but I knew and I didn’t say anything! I am so so horrible! And it’s not the first time it’s happened,” she cries. Cries. Tears and all. “He didn’t notice then and told me how good it was and I just felt like such a fraud when I smiled and said ‘thank you’.”

She’s sobbing. Swear to God sobbing. And the rest of them soothe and coo at her with soft words of understanding and warm hugs.

Erica’s eyes are as wide as saucers as she turns to Stiles.

He’s reminded of Allison and her fluffy interview with him and how she felt a recipe for pumpkin bread was the most riveting thing she’s ever read.

“They’re not serious,” Erica says, mouth open and on the floor.

“Yeah. Yeah. They are,” he tells her.

And here he thought… Doesn’t matter what he thought. These women have no soul. And that’s more frightening than Kira dragging broken glass over her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, like an asshole, I'm behind on replying to comments. Sorry. At least I'm not over 100 this time... *chuckles nervously* Promise to respond to any and all comments by Saturday night :)


	8. Irregularities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's coming together, and scaring the hell out of Stiles...

* * *

“Maybe it’s us,” Erica says, pacing up and down her [back patio](http://www.houzz.com/photos/33586096/My-Houzz-Blue-Stallion-Farm-eclectic-porch-new-york), biting her thumb nail.

“Hey. Don’t say that. It’s not us,” Stiles affirms.

“Yeah? Really, Stiles? Because we just sat in a room with these chicks and one of them cried over a steak. A steak!”

She’s been like this, paranoid and nervous, for the last 3 days. Stiles brought the boys over thinking their kids would be a nice distraction for them both over what happened during the support group. Stiles had even brought his camera along, taking pictures of John and Theo playing with Sophia and the baby ducks that have made themselves a home in Erica’s pond out back. He’d gotten a really good shot of John imitating the ducklings as they follow behind their mother. It was cute and actually made Erica smile.

But now she’s back to anxious and wearing her thumbnail down to a nub.

Stiles stands and takes her hand from her mouth. “Erica—”

“Ever woman in this town, Stiles. All of them. It’s not just Kate and her hive, but all of them. The Barbies are just the top dogs. It’s us.”

“It’s us, but not like that. Not like we’re the defunct toys. It’s us in that we’re the only normal, sane ones, and everyone else has the loose screw. I’ve been thinking that maybe… Maybe it’s something affecting them. Something they came in contact with that turns them into a bunch of Suzy Homemakers.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. The water, maybe?”

A look of horror comes over her face. “Oh, God. Don’t say that. We drink the water here. That means it’s affected us. That we’re next!”

“I know. And I get the feeling that that’s the plan.”

“I thought you came over here to make me feel better?”

“I did, but I won’t lie to you either.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do, Stiles?”

“…I don’t know.” He doesn’t, but he really fucking wish he did.

She hugs him. Tight. “Thanks.”

“We’re friends. I’m here for you.”

“Me, too,” she says. And Stiles can feel her cold, wet tears against his own cheek.

»»»

Stiles walks through the front door with the boys. “Upstairs for a bath. You guys smell like a petting zoo,” Stiles tells them. John and Theo hurry up the steps to their bathroom.

Stiles sets down his camera on the end table by the door and tosses his keys into the key bowl. He turns to the stairs, but catches sight of something in the [living room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/13771358/Lake-Front-Country-Estate-traditional-living-room-other-metro):

Derek. With Kate in his arms, sobbing on his shoulder.

He and Derek make eye contact. They’ve been married so long, and know each other so well, words aren’t needed.

_Really? What the hell is this?_

_I don’t know. But she’s crying and I didn’t know what else to do…_

Stiles rolls his eyes.

Kate lifts her head and dabs her eyes with a [floral handkerchief](https://www.etsy.com/listing/159230699/vintage-pink-floral-handkerchief-1950s?ref=market), finally acknowledging Stiles standing in the entryway.

“Oh. I am so embarrassed,” she says.

“Don’t be. It’s alright,” Derek soothes.

“No, I am. I shouldn’t have come over here like this. It’s so—”

“ _Unladylike_ ,” Stiles interrupts, earning a hard glare from his husband.

“Precisely,” Kate frowns. “I’m going to go.” She stands.

“Kate. You don’t have to. We’re here to help,” Derek says softly.

She grasps his hand affectionately. “No. I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, then breezes past Stiles, hurrying out the front door.

“Really, Stiles?”

“What,” Stiles shrugs, like he doesn’t care. Because he doesn’t.

“Scott can have a mental breakdown in the middle of our living room and you’ll let him stay over, but Kate cries her eyes out and whatever kindness she deserves is just asking too much of you?”

“First, you know why Scott acted like he did. Kate’s motivations are cloudy at best.”

“What does that mean?”

“Means I don’t trust her.”

“Or me.”

“No. Just her. I tried, Derek. With her and the rest of the people in this fucking town and I can’t. I just fucking can’t with them. They’re weird and shady.”

“Not this again,” Derek groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. You have a problem with the people here, Kate and her friends, well, no one told you to hang out with them. At least not exclusively. Join the men’s association then.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Look, I know you’re weary of what exactly they do, and that it’s just an excuse for a bunch of men to have a boys’ only club to say sexist things about women, but there’s some good work being done by them. By us.”

“No, Derek. I don’t trust them anymore than I do the Paperdolls.”

“THEN WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?!”

Stiles is taken aback by Derek’s yelling.

“You want me to sell the house? You want to move? You want us to live off whatever pennies you make taking pictures of flowers or whatever?”

“You…are an asshole,” Stiles tells him, fighting back tears. Stiles turns to exit the room, but Derek’s there in an instant, grabbing him by the arm.

“Stiles. I’m sorry. That was… I’m sorry. I just don’t know what you want me to do about any of this. You’re not happy no matter what and I don’t know what it is you need from me.”

“How about you start with just trusting me again?” Stiles snatches his arm from Derek’s grasp and leaves, heading upstairs.

»»»

They’ve been married for 8 years, and not once have they slept alone. Not even when they’re beyond pissed at the other. But Derek’s upstairs on the couch and Stiles in alone, and cold, in [their bed](http://www.houzz.com/photos/42826554/Marsh-side-Retreat-beach-style-bedroom-charleston).

He refused to sleep with him, so Derek grabbed his pillow and a blanket from the linen closet and went to the game room. He could’ve slept in either of the guest rooms, but neither of them have a TV in them. Stiles knows when they fight it’s hard for Derek to sleep; he likes to distract himself with the monotonous noise of reality TV when he’s stressed.

Stiles, on the other hand, spends 20 minutes crying quietly into his pillow before his eyes felt too heavy to lift and he drifted off.

He wakes to flashing light and a buzzing… His cellphone on the nightstand.

It’s Jordan Parrish.

“Jordan,” he asks, answering his phone.

“Stiles,” he exclaims, sounding panicked. “We were right. There is definitely some incredibly weird shit going on!”

Stiles sits up, turning on the lamp on the nightstand. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“Kira was an organ donor. He body parts were taken the moment she was pronounced dead. Before her body was cremated. Before Peter could do anything.”

“You think Peter’s behind all this?”

“He runs this town, Stiles. No one makes a move without his, or Kate’s say so. And Kate doesn’t breathe unless Peter tells her to. He’s been real cagey and authoritarian since the cocktail party.”

Stiles recalls finding Kate crying her eyes out on his husband’s shoulder earlier today. Maybe it was about Peter. Maybe Peter’s hurting her. Maybe Kate’s really a victim in all this…whatever it is.

“He was really particular about anyone seeing Kira while she was in the hospital,” Jordan continues.

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles recalls. “I tried to see her before she died.”

“I talked to some people on the hospital staff. They told me when Kira died she was immediately rushed to the operating room for her organs. Peter, Kate, and Isaac weren’t there, but they were notified when she passed. By the time they’d gotten there, her organs were already removed. Peter was apparently livid.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But someone tried to break into the morgue tonight.”

“What the fuck? Kira’s body isn’t there. It’s fucking ash. Her organs aren’t there either, I’m assuming.” He hopes actually, because psychos stealing human body parts— No, thanks.

“There’s not. If the intruder is connected to Kira, or her family, then they weren’t there for that. They wanted her—”

“Autopsy report. Her medical records,” Stiles pieces together.

“Exactly! I wanted to take a look at them, but I need a warrant and that’ll take too long, so I snuck in myself.”

“Jordan, Jesus! You’re a cop. You can’t go around committing B&E’s, dude! Lean on the burglar instead.”

“I can’t. They got away and their face is hidden from the cameras. They were wearing gloves, too, so no fingerprints either. Hold on.”

There’s some shuffling on the other end. Stiles runs his fingers through his hair wildly. He can’t believe how far this has all gone…

The sound of Jordan’s voice returns. “Kira’s brain was donated to a woman in Idaho who needed it, but it turns out they couldn’t use it.”

“Jordan, do you have the actual report with you? Are you reading it now?”

“After examining Kira’s brain they notice ‘some irregularities’,” Jordan continues, ignoring Stiles’ question, but answering it as well.

“Irregularities like what,” Stiles asks, almost too afraid to know.

“Like a fucking microchip implanted in her head.”

Oh. My. God… No. Just…no.

“Jordan. Have you been drinking,” Stiles asks carefully, because there’s a lot he’ll accept, but…robots?

“I’m serious, Stiles.”

“And that’s what worries me, man!”

There’s shuffling on the other side again. Jordan sounds distant…

Stiles’ cellphone chimes four times in a row. Text. Attached photos. Of Kira’s medical records, autopsy report, and a letter sent from a chief neurology surgeon at Boise General Hospital in Idaho.

“You have got to be joking…” Stiles says, in a low, stunted voice. He enlarges the photos, reading them quickly again.

“Stiles…? Stiles? Stiles,” Jordan calls from his end on the phone.

Stiles slowly brings the phone back up to his mouth. “Jordan. Please let this be an elaborate prank the whole town pulls on the new guy that just moved in.”

“Remember what you told me, about Kira, after her accident at the supermarket? And right before she killed herself? What she was saying, repeating stuff and looking far-off? It all makes sense with Peter being a software designer. Deaton being a doctor. Chris works in computer coding—”

“Lydia. Lydia was a robotics engineer. Kira was a chemist, Victoria a surgeon, and Kate… Kate was a goddman bioengineer! They stole their intelligence to make them robots. To make them…housewives?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I think it’s the answer we’ve been looking for. I think it’s the truth, Stiles. I’m going to do some more digging around. With Erica.”

Stiles is nothing but alert at the mention of their blonde friend. “Jordan, she’s not a cop. You can’t drag Erica into this.”

“I have to. You and her… You’re the only ones I trust.”

“I know, but Jordan, you can’t—”

“I’ll call you when I find something.”

Before Stiles can get a word out his phone beeps. Call ended.

He calls Jordan back. Five times, getting nothing but his voicemail:

_“Hey, this is Deputy Jordan Parrish. Leave it at the beep.”_

**Author's Note:**

> If you are unfamiliar with THE STEPFORD WIVES novel or films, [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFGkZblCgmY) the link to the 1975 version on YouTube. Don't watch the 2004 one with Nicole Kidman! It's fucking horrible and it pains me to say that considering how much I love Bette Midler.
> 
> Also, This fic is a slow reveal, so all details that you have question about with gradually be brought to light. You may ask anyway, but please don't be surprised if I'm evasive in my answers. LOL
> 
> Other couples in the fic are not tagged because it would hamper the mystery within the story and disrupt the climax.
> 
> UCONN is the inspiration for the fictional, Beacon State University, and Portsmouth, New Hampshire is the inspiration for Beacon Hills in this fic.


End file.
